All legs and wings SN 5, part 2
by technicolour66
Summary: We pretty much start off where Low Man's Lyric left off. New Bad guys, new general topic, hence new story.
1. Chapter 1

**2. All legs and wings**

_**Episode 1 – She had the sightless eyes, telling me no lies**_

*Soundtrack*  
AC/DC – You shook me all night long  
Massive Attack – Unfinished sympathy  
David Bowie – 5:15 The Angels Have Gone  
Sex Pistols – Anarchy in the UK  
R.E.M. – Losing my Religion  
Placebo – I know  
Robbie Williams - Angels  
Jimmy eat world – Firestarter  
Smiths – How soon is now?  
T. Rex - Children Of The Revolution  
Placebo – My Sweet Prince

Chapter 1

It had been a good Hunt.  
Easy, clean, short. No nasty surprises, no last minute news that changed the whole situation.  
They had gone to a bar to celebrate.  
Easy, clean and short really wasn't something you could rely on during a hunt. Jobs tended to get complicated on their own accord, so if one went well, some celebration was definitely called for.  
Catherine had walked up to the karaoke machine and had treated them to a song.  
Dean had to smile, as she chose AC/DC's 'You shook me all night long', probably just to please him.  
And boy, had she pleased him, both at the mike and later in their motel room.  
Life was beyond good.  
For the first time in his life, he really felt like he had something that just belonged to himself.  
Catherine was his entirely. And he was hers.  
Before, this sentence probably would have scared the crap out of him, but for better or for worse, he was no longer entirely the man he had been before - before hell, before trying to stop the apocalypse, before breaking, before being put back together again by the miracle that was Cat.  
Their bond gave him strength and grounded him in a way he had never experienced before.  
These days, Dean Winchester went to sleep with a smile, instead of dreading the coming night and its nightmares.  
These days, he woke up with a smile, too.

"I know that I've been mad in love before  
And how it could be with you  
Really hurt me baby, really cut me baby  
How can you have a day without a night  
You're the book that I have opened  
And now I've got to know much more"

At dusk, Dean woke with that warped Christmassy Joy-to-the-world kind of feeling that always heralded the arrival of Castiel.  
He frowned and looked around for the angel.  
And sure as hell, there he was, Dean's very own personal link to the PTB, the powers that be.  
Outside the window of their dingy motel room, instead of too up close and personal this time for a change.  
Dean suspected that this little tribute to privacy was due to the fact that Catherine was sleeping next to him.  
He quietly put a shirt on and struggled into his jeans, then went outside buttoning his shirt.

"Hi Cas. Been a while."  
"Dean. I need a favour."  
Ah, Cas, master of small talk. And fashion icon as well – same old trench, same old suit, same out-of-bed hairdo.  
"A favour? You mean you're actually asking me to do something for a change, instead of ordering me around?"  
Castiel was silent and stared into space, head tilted in that… Cas way. He managed to convey worry without actually moving a facial muscle.  
Dean sighed.  
"Okay, Cas, shoot."  
"Someone is killing Guardians."  
"Guardians. Yeah, right… Cas, do I have to pull every word from your mouth with pliers?"  
"Guardians are humans endowed with special powers. They are guarding secrets of vital importance."  
"Importance to whom?"  
"Heaven and earth. If these secrets fall into the wrong hands, we would again be facing the possibility of an apocalypse."  
"And they are being killed. Any idea who's doing it?"  
"No. That's what I would like you to find out."  
"Okay, where do we start?"  
"You will go to Jerico Springs, Cedar, Missouri."  
"Missouri? Can't you ever send me some place beachy and holidayish?"  
No reaction. Small wonder. Cas didn't comment on Dean being facetious. Ever.  
"You will find the Guardian in the bookstore on Logan Street. You go alone, of course."  
Now that was something Dean wouldn't accept, not this time. They were a team and they were a really good one, it would be stupid to lose that advantage.  
"No, Cas, I won't go alone. This isn't a divine order this time, it's you asking and you asking leads to me telling you. And I am telling you, you only get me in the complete set. That means me, Cat and Sam. Take it or leave it."  
Castiel looked a tad put out, thought Dean, at least, well, as much as the angel could look put out.  
Dean thought he saw Cas give an infinitesimal shrug, but it could've been simply a trick of the light. Cas didn't do shrugs, really.  
"Very well, Dean. Your rules."  
And with that, the angel was gone.

"5:15  
All of my life  
Angels have gone  
I'm changing trains  
Angels like them  
Thin on the ground  
All of my life  
All legs and wings  
Strange sandy eyes"

Cat woke up to see Dean packing.  
They had done the job, a simple haunting in Whatsitsname, Ohio, last night, so it figured they'd be off someplace else immediately.  
Another day, another dollar – only, there were no dollars in this line of work.  
Another day, another crappy motel room?  
Usually, Dean would at least give them some time the next morning before heading out.  
This hurry probably meant they already had a new job lined up.  
"So, where are we going, hot shot?" Cat said, smiling.  
"Jerico Springs, Missouri."  
Dean tossed some balled-up t-shirts in his duffel bag. He looked tense.  
"And what's in Jerico Springs, then?"  
"A job."  
"Really? Well, I'll be damned, a job, how unique!" Cat said sarcastically. Boy, h ad that man ever gotten up on the wrong side of the bed!  
Dean turned to her with a half-apologetic grin. "Came up at the crack of dawn, sounds urgent, c'mon, giddy up, I'll tell you both in the car."  
"So, Sam's already packing?"  
"Yeah, wanted to give you a few more moments to rest."  
"Sweet." Cat swung her legs out of the bed and went to take a shower.

They tore down the freeway. Speeding, needless to say.  
"Okay, Dean, spit it out."  
"Castiel came to me last night."  
Sam groaned and said: "Not AGAIN!"  
Sam had thought they had left all that behind them for good. Nothing good could come of anything related to angels. They were all about half truths and obfuscation, not to mention that they tended to send his brother off on suicide missions. Okay, that was probably the main reason Sam had misgivings about angels, along with the fact that they didn't react too well to someone tainted by demon blood, not matter what Sam did.  
"Angel business, Dean? That doesn't sound too good to me," said Cat.  
She was instantly worried. The last angel business had left Dean in a mental hospital, all but gone beyond the point of no return.  
"No, it's… not strictly speaking not angel business. Cas asked me to investigate this shit as a favour." Dean sounded terse. Small wonder, was he now in the position of defending a job he wasn't 100% behind in the first place.  
"Okay. That sounds slightly better, but still doesn't sound anywhere near good." Cat wasn't mollified just yet.  
"There are these dudes, called Guardians."  
Cat winced. Guardians. That meant big time trouble, if there was something wrong with one of them.  
"They guard some secret shit and they're being killed. If the wrong kind of people get their hands on these secrets, we'll be up shit creek without a paddle. So we find them and stop them."  
"How?"  
"Hell, do I have to do everything in this outfit?" Dean said with righteous indignation in his voice.

The drove into Jerico Springs at dusk.  
Not much of a town, so finding the bookstore was real easy.  
They walked in after a cursory check on the terrain.  
There was a woman in the store, lithe, late 30ies, early 40ies, straight dark hair cut in a bob.  
Dean was tired.  
He had sat behind the wheel for hours and wasn't up to taking it slow.  
"You the Guardian I'm supposed to protect?"  
The woman looked startled.  
"Who are you folks?"  
"I'm Dean Winchester, this is my brother Sam and my partner Catherine. I was sent here to see to it you don't get killed."  
Dean wished there was a secret handshake that he could use to cut through all this crap.  
Why wasn't there a secret handshake?  
Or a password?  
Wasn't he even worthy of that?  
Would it have been so hard on Castiel to make sure they had a secret password? It would make his life so much easier.  
"Who sent you?"  
"An angel." Dean said, groaning inwardly at the way it sounded. Could he sound more psycho new age, if he tried?  
"Which one?"  
"Castiel."  
The woman nodded.  
"I'm Maya Gallagher. I'm the Guardian."  
The woman stood straighter, somehow, as she said it.  
Her power filled the room.

Chapter 2

"I am an antichrist  
I am an anarchist  
Don't know what I want but  
I know how to get it  
I wanna destroy the passer by cos I  
I wanna be anarchy!"

It had taken them almost 600 years to come to this.  
They couldn't fail now. Finally, the time had come, the signs were saying it without the shadow of a doubt.  
They were the coming power, they were the unstoppable tide that would rule night and day alike.  
After all these years, their flag was flowing proudly from the roof of their headquarters again and the sign of the one they worshipped could be found on the entrances of many gathering points once more. Their numbers were swelling and their power was growing.  
They were the Cult of Ouron.

The young man crept carefully along the dark small town street.  
Their mission was of the essence and they must not be seen, nor stopped. He clutched his dagger tightly to his body. On the other side of the street, his lieutenant and two more men were gliding from one pool of darkness to the next. He turned his head to signal the two men behind him to follow him more closely now.  
His instructions had been clear.  
The woman was to be found in a bookstore and must be brought back to the cave alive for questioning. The secret that she guarded was needed to prepare for the ritual. The ritual would finally put the Cult of Ouron where it belonged – on the throne, ruling the earth.  
He shuddered with anticipation.  
He reached the bookstore.  
Through the shop window, he could see that the woman had three customers, two men and a woman. Not good, but not something they needed to worry about, either.  
His men were all trained fighters and they didn't mind collateral damage much.  
Their mission was too important for that and besides, three dead humans did not matter much, anyway.

Dean was still thinking there should be a secret handshake or code word to identify the good guys in situations like this. Well, never mind, they found the Guardian and would take her to Bobby's - safest place in the whole goddamn world.  
He was just starting to say something, when suddenly six masked figures, armed with wickedly curved daggers, burst into the room.  
He immediately moved between them and the Guardian, drew his gun and aimed straight at the guy who seemed to be the ring leader.  
From the corner of his eye, he could see Sam had done the same and Cat was apparently already mouthing a spell.  
The attackers seemed dumbstruck.  
They looked like they most definitely hadn't counted on resistance.  
Dean pressed his advantage by pushing the Guardian further backwards, towards the store's back door. Sam followed suit.  
Catherine said "OBFUSCATE" and a wall of fog formed between them and their attackers.  
They moved out back and ran towards the Impala.

Dean could hear rapid footsteps following them.  
He stood and turned, gun at the ready. He fired at their attackers. One of the figures crumpled to the ground.  
One down, five to go.  
He aimed at another, when his world suddenly went black.

The Grandmaster walked over the prone bodies of the three people who had tried to foil his plan. The bolt of magic he had hit them with had worked as intended; they were all unconscious and would remain so for a few more hours.  
The Guardian was lying next to the unknown woman.  
He told his men to pick her up.  
"And the others?"  
"Leave them, they are of no consequence. It is more important that we leave here undetected. "  
"But Master…"  
"Silence. We will discuss your punishment later."  
The young man gasped, tried to say something, but the older man cut him short with a sharp gesture of his hand.  
"They should have never left the shop, never have run out into the open, where civilians can see them."

Dean came too, tasting copper.  
What the hell had hit him?  
He looked around.  
Dawn lined the narrow street with subtle pink velvet.  
Cat and Sam were also stirring.  
The Guardian was gone.  
"What part of protecting the Guardian didn't you understand, Dean?"  
Cas. Pissed off.  
If his head weren't hurting so badly and if he weren't so goddamned pissed off himself at being outmaneuvered, Dean would actually enjoy the experience.  
Cas, pissed off. Wow. Now that was a first.  
"Well, we tried. And somehow I can't quite shake the feeling that maybe we wouldn't have done such a piss poor job of it if a certain know-it-all in a fucking trench coat had given us the necessary info." He snapped.  
"I…" Cas looked at the rising sun, searching for words, looking lost.  
"Do you know where they took her?" Cat said gently.  
"Yes, to a cave some 60 miles from here."  
"Okay, you can explain yourself to me in the car. Let's roll."  
Dean was already behind the wheel of the Impala before he had finished the sentence.  
He was fuming. He should have foreseen that the goons would have someone bringing up the rear. Hunting 101. DAMMIT.  
They tore out of the town.

"Now, Cas, I believe you were trying to tell me why you once more sent me out on a shit detail half-cocked."  
"They are called the Cult of Ouron. They… they must be stopped. Their foot soldiers are nothing more than fighters, but the higher ranks of the order have magic at their disposal."  
Cas fell silent again.  
"And?"  
"Dean, don't push." Cat said softly. She looked at the angel and said: "You don't have to tell us everything. We understand if there are things you can't talk about."  
There always were things angels couldn't talk about; it was part of their job description. Putting pressure on Castiel would only make the angel acutely uncomfortable, but would not yield any results. He would not lie, did not know how, so he would simply not say anything anymore. Much as Cat didn't want to be in on any angel business, now that she was in on it already, the least she could do was mediate between fire and water, as it were.

"Every whisper  
Of every waking hour  
I'm choosing my confessions  
Trying to keep an eye on you  
Like a hurt, lost and blinded old fool  
Oh no, I've said too much  
I've said it all"

Castiel shifted uncomfortably in his seat.  
The witch was kind and her soul shone brightly. That was a surprise; he hadn't expected her to be a good person. She was nothing like Dean's usual women. Maybe she was good for him after all, as he had surmised from recent events. His superiors thought differently, but Castiel was no longer taking everything they said to be the gospel truth.  
He wished he could tell Dean the whole truth, but that was impossible.  
"The Cult must be stopped. That is all that counts."  
"It's crap declarations like this that get you way off my good list." Dean snarled. "I already got that they are evil. I need information if I'm to stop them."  
He never knew how to deal with the angel. On the one hand, he liked the guy. Really liked him. Couldn't help it, Cas simply was… well, Cas. Angel, duh, raised Dean from perdition yaddayadda. And that brought him straight to the other hand. On that hand, Cas was annoying the funk out of Dean with his silences, the comings and goings without notice and the whole mystery guy gig.

Cat put her hand on Dean's shoulder from the back seat. She gently caressed his neck with her thumb.  
She could feel him calm down.  
Dean took a deep breath.  
It was strange, how she could bring him out of anything with just a simple touch or a smile.  
"Okay, Cas," he said in a less aggressive voice, "just give me something to work with, can you?"  
"They were gone for almost 600 years, now they are back. Times have changed. I can't say with any certainty if they still have the same goals as in the 15th century."  
"What did they use to do, then? Taken with a grain of salt, promise."  
"They worshipped the demon Ouron and tried to gain demonic powers themselves, by means of alchemistic processes."  
Cat swallowed hard, remembering her father and his demon collection.  
Sam had powered up his laptop and gone to full research mode.  
He said: "Ouron is not listed and I got no search results on the Cult at all."  
"They were thought to be completely extinct, their knowledge lost, their texts destroyed."  
Castiel's face bore a strange expression as he said this. Catherine looked at him intently.  
Could it be guilt?

Chapter 3

"I know, the past will catch you up as you run faster  
I know, the last in line is always called a bastard  
I know, the past will catch you up as you run faster  
I know  
I know"

Castiel showed them the way to the cave, then did his patented vanishing act again.  
Dean was livid.  
They still didn't have the first idea about what they were letting themselves in for and their only lead had popped off to Neverland again.  
The cave entrance loomed darkly ahead of them. It was suspiciously quiet and there weren't even any guards to be seen.  
"How do we work this, team?" Dean asked, running his hand through his hair, trying to figure out what the hell to do.  
"Easy. I go in alone." Cat said.  
"No effing way, kitten. Next bright idea?"  
Figured. He just had to get difficult about this.  
"Dean, listen to me, please. I can make myself virtually invisible. I can go in, take a look at what's going on and then we can make a proper plan. Based on facts, not wild guesses."  
"Makes a lot of sense to me, Dean," said Sam quietly, knowing that his brother was going to explode in five, four, three, two, one…  
"Have you all gone mental?" Dean hissed. Good thing they had to keep it quiet, otherwise they'd now be treated to an out and out shouting fit.  
"You are SO not going into that cave alone. I absolutely forbid it!"  
"You what?" Cat said in a whisper that had claws attached to it.  
"Well, I, errm, I don't… uh." Dean faltered under the steady and not particularly loving gaze of his woman. "I won't risk you getting hurt."  
"I won't get hurt. For crying out loud, Dean, listen to reason for once, will ya?" Cat still sounded angry. "I can go in there and come out again undetected. What is your problem?"  
"What if…"  
"No. No what ifs in sight. I can do this. I HAVE done this many times, running errands for the Council wasn't exactly fun and games, you know."  
She glared at him.  
Dean gave in, not gracefully, but he did.  
"You go in there, take a look around and come back here, stat. Understood?"  
Cat sighed and nodded in a non-committal way. What Dean would read into the nod was his own business, she thought.  
What would really happen in there would depend on the kind of situation she would find. And she would make her own decision, based on that.

Cat crept along the dark tunnel.  
Small wonder there were no guards at the cave's mouth.  
The entry had been secured with a spell, but Cat had been able to disarm it.  
She came to a large hall, filled with people in red and black robes.  
Predictable much? The bad guys wore the black hat…. Cat had to smile. She stood in a small alcove to the side and took check of the situation.  
Cat did a rough count. There were about 50 people in the room.  
So no full frontal assault by the Incredible Earp brothers.  
"Bully for you, Dean," she thought, "this is going to be my kind of gig."  
The robed figures were in the middle of some ritual, but it was not a magical one. Sort of social, probably. They were, however, all concentrating on it, which made Cat's job so much easier.

Cat walked quietly around the room, to another tunnel leading deeper into the cave.  
After a while, she reached a couple of iron doors.  
She looked through the slits.  
Empty, empty, empty.  
Dammit, empty again.  
Finally, behind the last door, Cat saw the Guardian.  
She magically unlocked the door and walked inside.  
Maya was chained to the wall. They had beaten her up badly, but at least she was still alive. She was looking slightly panicked at the sight of an open door, but apparently no one entering the room.  
"Maya, hush, it's me, Catherine. I'll get you out of here."  
Maya looked relieved and simply nodded.  
Cat unchained her and extended her camouflage spell over the older woman. It would take some concentration and effort to keep them both cloaked, but it was doable.  
They walked out of the cell and made the long way back to the cave's mouth without any incident. Thankfully, the robe guys were still very much vested in their ritual and didn't pay any close attention to something that might look like a faint, moving shadow on the wall.

Cat and Maya reached Dean and Sam.  
Dean was pacing like a caged tiger. His hands were balled into tight fists, at least when he wasn't running them compulsive-obsessively through his hair.  
Cat lifted the spell.  
"Cat! Wow, you're amazing! Look at that, Dean! She's got Maya."  
Meaning she had not paid any attention to what Dean had said to her previously.  
Dean just pulled her close and kissed her hard on the mouth.  
He SO didn't want to let go.  
"Okay, let's get to Bobby's." he said a little breathlessly. "Can you walk, Maya?"  
"Yes, I think so."

The Impala hummed down the road.  
Cat was busy on the backseat, dressing Maya's injuries. There were a lot of bruises and some ribs might be cracked, but thankfully nothing worse than that.  
"They kept asking about the secret I guard." Maya said. "I didn't tell them anything. They were called to that ceremony and chained me up, saying they'd continue later and then they'd be using knives on me."  
Maya shuddered.  
"I don't think I was ever more glad to see someone than when you came in the door, Catherine. Only… I didn't see you, did I now!" Maya laughed, then winced and put a hand on her injured ribs.  
Sam was talking to Bobby, putting him up to speed with the latest developments.  
"Listen, Bobby, Castiel said that this Cult of Ouron was wiped out in the 15th century. Can you access any sources older than that? They seem to have kept their new rising under a pretty tight lid, so there's nothing recent to be found anywhere. Yeah. Right. See you in a couple of hours."

Dean didn't want to drive the fucking car.  
Now that was a first.  
Dean actually wanted to be on the backseat with Cat, making a point.  
Namely that he was still not okie dokie with her going in the cave alone. Going in alone and then searching for Maya when she had promised that she would only take a look around and come right back out.  
He had very distinct ideas on just how he would make that particular point.  
Most of them would actually necessitate a non-see-through window between front and back seats, so he could make sure she understood how much not okay it was with him when she put herself in danger.  
He had hope now, maybe even faith. He couldn't afford to lose her and with it lose this little bit of hope and faith and go back to the dark place.

"I sit and wait  
does an angel contemplate my fate  
and do they know  
the places where we go  
when we're grey and old  
'cos I've been told  
that salvation lets their wings unfold  
so when I'm lying in my bed  
thoughts running through my head  
and I feel that love is dead  
I'm loving angels instead"

Once more, they drove into Bobby's lot.  
Sam had relieved Dean at the wheel and predictably enough, he again hit the same goddamned pothole he always hit.  
And, as always, Dean lost it.  
As always, Bobby walked outside to greet them.  
"Boys, Cat, ma'am." Bobby nodded at them.  
"Did you find anything yet?" Sam asked. As always.  
"Nope, big pile o' nothin'."  
"Okay, let's get inside and get prepared. I'm sure they will find us sooner or later." Dean said, rubbing his eyes.  
He felt like shit.  
But then again, that was normal, kind of came with the territory. Up all night, fighting, worrying, always on the fucking road, the whole shebang.  
Life of a Hunter, baby, life of a Hunter.

Chapter 4

"I'm the bitch you hated, filth infatuated.  
Yeah, I'm the pain you tasted, fell intoxicated  
I'm a firestarter, twisted firestarter,  
you're the firestarter, twisted firestarter."

"So, how many people were in that cave, Catherine?" Bobby asked, war room meeting in full swing.  
The table was filled with papers, Sam was peering intently at his laptop, in short, business as usual at Bobby Singer's house.  
"Round abouts fifty, I would say. Eighty percent in black robes, 20 in red. My guess would be the upper rungs wear the red."  
"No way of telling if that's all there are, might be more somewhere else."  
"Yeah, best be prepared for a larger number than that.  
"What is the secret you are guarding," Sam asked Maya.  
"If I told you, it would no longer be a secret, would it now?" replied Maya with a smile.  
"It's not such a stupid question at all," said Dean calmly." It would be a good thing if we could at least get a rough idea of what they are after. It would help us find out what they are trying to achieve."  
"I am only permitted to tell the secret to someone who has Grace. Last time I looked, none of you here were angels." Maya said sternly and got up to leave the room.  
"Boy, is she touchy or what?" said Sam. "And how are we supposed to come up with a plan now?"  
Dean shook his head. This was such a crap deal, he couldn't even come up with a snappy comeback or a sarcastic comment.  
Catherine got up and walked out after Maya.  
Thank God. Cat would know what to do, how to persuade the Guardian. Women knew how to talk to other women.  
"Let Cat handle it. Maybe she can get her to at least give us a hint." Dean said.

Maya stood outside.  
Catherine walked up to her.  
"That statement was final, Catherine. Grateful as I am to you for saving my life, there is no way around that rule."  
"I'm not asking for an exception to the rule, I'm telling you to tell me," said Catherine and for the first time in a long while uncloaked completely.  
The Guardian gasped.  
"But this is impossible."

Cat sat at Sam's laptop late at night.  
Dean had been asleep as she sneaked out of the bedroom. He had looked so peaceful and cuddlesome that she really had to push herself to get up and go downstairs.  
But since they were once more deep in the country of "I can't tell you shit", there was no other way to do the needful than to sneak out in the dead of night.  
"Good evening, Ms. Catherine," came Cedric's voice. The ghostly keeper of the Council's archives smiled serenely at Cat.  
"Good evening, Cedric. I am not entirely certain if it is appropriate to enquire how you are doing?"  
"I am doing very well indeed, Ms. Catherine, so thoughtful of you to ask. We have acquired many new tomes to be sighted and archived and that is always a pleasure. As far as I can feel pleasure, of course." said the ghost gravely. "What can I do for you tonight?"  
"I would need information on the Chalice of St. Dunstan, please."  
"Ms. Catherine, I regret very much, but that information is highly classified and I am not at liberty to divulge it to anyone who isn't a member of the Council or has… Oh."  
Catherine had once more fully uncloaked. Not a good thing, far too dangerous, but she needed the information, there was no way around it.  
"Shall I download the information to the laptop you are using?"  
"Can you encipher it so that only I can access it?"  
"Most certainly, Ms. Catherine. Will that be all for now?"  
"Yes, thank you very much indeed, Cedric. I wish you much pleasure with the new books."  
"Thank you kindly, Ms. Catherine. Good luck with whatever you need the information for."

"When you say it's gonna happen "now"  
well, when exactly do you mean?  
see I've already waited too long  
and all my hope is gone"

Cat stayed up until the small hours, picking her way through the texts.  
They didn't make for happy reading and once more, it looked like they would have a monumental task of keeping the world at large safe and sound.  
The Chalice of St. Dunstan could be used to summon angels. Real summoning, as in can't stay away, can't do a thing to protect themselves summoning.  
As always, the intent of its makers had been pure, but in the wrong hands, this could be a terrible weapon against the Heavenly Hosts.  
How to transform this knowledge into a handy pointer for the boys without giving her game away was yet another challenge.  
With a sigh, she closed the documents, powered down the computer and went back upstairs to Dean.

Dean woke up with a start. Day was dawning and the bed next to him was empty.  
Just as he was starting to get out of bed to look for her, Cat came into the room.  
"Mornin' baby," she said in a lazy drawl and walked towards him.  
"Morning, kitten." Dean said, voice husky. Damn, but she looked fine in boxers and a tight top.  
She kneeled over him and kissed him hard.  
Dean ignited like lighter fluid. He moaned into her mouth and pulled her closer. She was moving subtly, rubbing pelvis against pelvis and he almost came from the sweet friction alone.  
Suddenly, they were stark naked.

Dean broke the kiss to gasp: "Wh… how?"  
Cat laughed huskily and said: "Magic, baby, magic."  
"Halleluiah." Dean said reverently, closed his eyes for a moment and let her run the show.  
Magic alright.

Dean came whistling down the stairs.  
Castiel was standing in the kitchen. Oh, what a beautiful fucking morning.  
"Good morning, Cas." Dean said politely, since the angel looked a bit the worse for wear.  
Cas looked at Dean strangely.  
"Good morning."  
"We got the Guardian safely here. What do we do next?"  
"Just keep her safe. … Please." Again, Cas had a weird look on his face. "I… uh… I must apologize for leaving you so suddenly. I had no choice in the matter, I was called back. With some urgency."  
Cas shifted his body awkwardly.  
"Cas, what's wrong?"  
"Nothing, Dean. It's… alright." Cas was swaying slightly now.

Dean barely caught him before he hit the ground hard.  
Perfect. An unconscious angel. What now?  
Footsteps sounded on the stairs. Thank God, Cat. She'd know what to do.  
Dean bit down the urge to yell "I didn't do a thing!".  
"Dean, what the hell happened?"  
"I don't know, we were talking and suddenly, he just collapsed."  
Catherine rushed over and knelt next to Dean. She started unbuttoning the angel's shirt.  
"Whoa, Cat, I don't think that that's approp…"  
"Shut up, Dean. Go get a glass of water."  
As soon as his back was turned, Cat slid her hand inside Cas' shirt.  
Sure enough, over his heart there was a palm print scar, much like the one Dean had on his shoulder. Only this one wasn't from anything as benevolent as being raised from perdition, this one meant punishment.  
Severe, excruciatingly painful punishment.

Dean turned around to a sight that made his stomach churn. Underneath Castiel's goddamned tax accountant's shirt, his woman was running her hand over the angel's breast.  
"What the fuck are you doing there, Catherine?" he said in a low, growly voice.  
"Checking what's wrong with him."  
"And that involves petting exactly HOW?"  
"Jesus, Dean, could you be more ludicrous, if you tried?" Cat turned to him with a look that was both exasperated and hurt at the same time.  
"He needs to rest. Come on, Dean, give me a hand, let's carry him to our room. The others don't need to see him like this."  
Dean reluctantly took the angel by the shoulders and together they carried him up the narrow stairway to their room.  
Dean marveled at how little Castiel seemed to weigh. They could carry him with ease.  
They settled him on the bed.

Cat sat down next to the angel and said to Dean: "I know you won't like it, but I need to be alone with him for a moment."  
"Damn right I don't like it." said Dean flatly.  
Cat sighed deeply, got up and walked over to him.  
She took his face in her hands and looked him hard in the eye.  
"Have we conveniently forgotten again that we have a lifelong deal, you and me? A contract that can not be broken and only ends when we die? Where do this anxiety and jealousy come from?"  
"He… he's a goddamned angel, Cat. Goodness incarnate. And a hunk, for crying out loud. He's perfect."  
Catherine laughed out loud.  
"Not to me he isn't. But this green-eyed jerk right in front of me is."  
Dean looked at her intently, then dipped his head to kiss her.  
Cat moved closer, a perfect fit of his angles to her curves.  
It was a sweet kiss, soft and gentle, reassuring and absolutely wonderful.  
"Can you now leave me alone with this angel who means nothing to me for a moment, or not?" Cat whispered into Dean's ear.  
"You gonna touch him again?"  
"Yes."  
"Can't I stay?"  
"No. The angel has a right to keep his secrets."  
"'Kay."  
With that, he left the room.

Cat resumed her place at the angel's side. Time to do what only she could do.  
She placed her hand on the palm print on his chest once more and closed her eyes.

Chapter 5

Cat walked down the stairs to the sound of frying things and clattering dishes. Breakfast preparations were in full swing.  
Dean was leaning in the kitchen doorway. She walked behind him, put her arms around his waist and buried her head in his neck.  
"He okay?" whispered Dean.  
"Stable. He needs rest."  
"Good."  
"I love you, Dean. Please try to stop doubting me."  
"I don't doubt you. I doubt myself."  
"Well, cut that crap, then."  
Dean chuckled. "I love you to, by the way."  
"Glad to hear it, bonehead." Cat bit his neck lightly.  
"Ouch!"Dean twirled around and grabbed Cat tightly.  
"Minx."  
He kissed her.  
"Come on, you two, get your embarrassing asses upstairs for the hoochie coochie, or cut it out and have breakfast." growled Bobby, a large frying pan full of beacon in his hand.  
"Would love to do that," thought Dean, "but there's a fucking angel in my bed."

"Yeah  
Well you can bump and grind  
It is good for your mind  
Well you can twist and shout let it all hang out  
But you won't fool the children of the revolution  
No you won't fool the children of the revolution, no no no"

Sam, Dean and Bobby were outside in the lot, building something like a defense wall out of assorted scrapped cars and metal parts, adding some choice devil's traps and assorted other bits of goodness to the mix.  
It was hot outside already and it was slow going.

Cat left Maya sitting in the kitchen. The Guardian had found an old, worn edition of Shelley's verse and was reading avidly.  
Cat walked into the bedroom.  
Castiel was still unconscious, but there was a slight bit of colour in his cheeks. She sat on the edge of the bed and felt his forehead. It was cool to the touch. That was good – at least it meant that he was healed enough not to allow his vessel to be damaged further.  
She put her hand on the mark again. He was definitely doing better. As she took her hand away, she saw he was awake and looking at her intently.  
"You're awake, that's good." Cat said lightly.  
"How did I get here?"  
"If you mean in this bed, Dean and I carried you. How you got HERE in the first place, I have no idea. You were badly hurt."  
"I know. Why am I better now?"  
Catherine laughed and hope he wouldn't catch on to the lie in her voice as she said: "Honey, you're the angel, if you don't know, how the hell should I?"  
He seemed to ponder that statement for a long time, head tilted in that funny way she had noticed the last time she had seen him. Sort of his puzzle stance.  
"You touched my skin."  
"Yeah, wanted to make sure your heart was beating alright." Again hoping he wouldn't notice the lie.  
"Oh." Again with the puzzle stance. It didn't look like he remembered. Good. Let's hope it stays that way.  
"The Guardian, is she safe?"  
"Yes, Maya's downstairs in the kitchen, reading a book. So let's not worry about her for a moment, let's worry about you."  
"But I am fine now." Castiel said and proceeded to get up. His shirt and tie, Cat noticed, had returned to full order.

They walked down the stairs to the kitchen.  
Maya looked up from her book and smiled in greeting.  
"Castiel! How good to see you!"  
"It is good to see you as well, Maya. Is it safe?"  
"Yes." Maya couldn't look into Castiel's eyes as she said it. That woman Catherine was too much of an unknown factor.

"Why, would you pay  
Why, would you pay  
To see me in a cage  
Just a hole across the stage

And know  
When the night has gone  
You might say  
I was not the only the one who would've died  
What was wrong in the eyes of the cruel and unwise  
And they killed a man for his giro today"

Sam, Dean and Bobby were exhausted and dying for a cold beer. They walked wearily back into the house.  
Maya, Cat and Castiel were sitting around the kitchen table, playing cards. There was a heap of small change piled up in front of the angel and the women were looking way less than happy.  
"Castiel, you can't have ANOTHER full house! That's the fourth since we started! You got to be cheating!" Maya sounded incensed.  
"You guys are playing poker with an angel?" asked Dean incredulously.  
"Texas Hold'em, to be precise," snapped Cat, "and the bastard is winning like nothing I've ever seen."  
"Well, baby, he does have a natural poker face, you know. It kind of comes with the territory." Dean said with a wicked smile.  
"You know, that damned freaky luck he has wouldn't even piss me off so badly, if it weren't for the fact that he doesn't even GET the damned game in the least!"  
Castiel looked at her and did the puzzle stance again.  
"I don't understand." he said midly. "What have I done wrong?"  
"You're winning, buddy, that's all." Dean was laughing outright now. What a sight!  
"Well, Dean Winchester, you can take my place at the table. Let's see how you like it."  
Dean knew he was up shit creek when Cat said his full name. He had no choice but to sit down and take her place. Maya shoved her cards into Sam's hand and motioned for Bobby to take the empty chair next to the angel.  
"Now WE will cook dinner and YOU can try your luck against the angelic version of Brett Maverick." Cat snarled and nodded to Maya to come along to the fridge.  
Castiel gathered up his latest winnings, then collected the cards and started shuffling them. Real fast. With a LOT of dexterity. Dean winced. This would be painful.

An hour later, they were literally saved by the dinner bell.  
Sam had lost all his money, Bobby about the same amount.  
Dean wasn't doing half bad, but not doing half bad against a first time player was the penultimate insult to someone as experienced at relieving unsuspecting small-town folk off their hard earned cash as Dean was.  
Castiel was looking at the pile of money in front of him with a frown on his face.  
"What am I supposed to do with the money now?" he asked.  
"Well, being an angel and all, I would guess you donate it to a charity of your choice." said Bobby, wincing as he counted his losses.  
Maya and Catherine were putting a steaming hot pot of some delicious-smelling stew on the table.  
They put a plate in front of Castiel as well.  
"I don't eat." he said.  
"Well, you might not need food, strictly speaking, but eating together with your friends is giving a kind of sustenance that has nothing to do with the food itself, you know." said Maya softly.  
Puzzle stance. Then Castiel slowly dipped his spoon into the stew and started eating.

It had been a wonderful meal. They had laughed a lot, told outrageous stories and had shared the odd secret or two.  
Castiel had been an avid listener, apparently soaking up the atmosphere and the spirit of camaraderie between them.  
Dean went to the fridge for another round of beer.  
As he passed Castiel, he whispered into his ear: "How far off our trail are they still?"  
Castiel looked up at him. He understood that Dean didn't want to kill the good mood, so he said quietly: "Far enough."  
"Thanks, Cas."  
The others hadn't even noticed their quick exchange.  
It was very late when they all finally went to bed.  
Castiel remained sitting in the kitchen. He had much to contemplate.  
It had been a very interesting day for an angel.

Chapter 6

Dean opened his eyes.  
A pair of startlingly blue ones was peering down at him intently.  
Dean started.  
"Cas… dammit, you can give a man a heart attack that way, you know!" he said, voice still husky with sleep. Then he remembered he was completely naked – and so was Cat.  
"You gotta wait outside and lemme get decent."  
"I need to speak to you now."  
"Yeah, I guessed as much, but hell, we're naked. Go. Wait outside."  
Castiel shrugged his infinitesimal shrug and walked out of the room.  
Dean heard Cat giggle.  
"I think you minded being naked slightly more than Castiel did."  
"Yeah, well, so?"  
"So nothing. Go, put something on and talk to him, he sounded urgent."  
Dean pulled on his jeans and almost toppled over, because he was trying to put both his legs into one pant leg in his haste.

"They will be here by nightfall and I have to leave. Now." Castiel said gravely.  
"Okay. Before you leave: Anything you can tell me that will help?"  
Castiel hung his head and was silent for a while.  
"I think your woman will be able to find a spell that will help. Other than that, I am at a loss."  
"Destroying whatever Maya is guarding is not an option, I take?"  
"The object holds great powers which, in the right hands, will be beneficial to the world. The danger it poses now is something that needs to be overcome by those who protect the object."  
A quintessential Cas reply. Very weighty and yet so completely devoid of tangible meaning.  
"Who did that to you, Cas? The state you were in?"  
"I was punished. And rightly so."

"You know it was Cat who helped you, right?"  
Castiel looked very pensive indeed at that. Catherine had helped him? That was impossible, plain and simple.  
Still now was not the time to contemplate the impossible.  
"I must go, Dean. Thank you. I appreciate what you are doing."  
With that, the angel was gone.

Dean went back to Cat.  
She was gorgeous in the soft morning light. Okay, she was gorgeous in just about any old light, but this… It was sweet and it was special.  
It threw soft shadows over her cheek and dipped her lips in a peachy hue.

If Dean had seen anything like this on a silver screen, he'd have run from the cinema, screaming, because it would mean he had wandered into a chick flick by mistake.  
Why then could the mere sight of her send him reeling?  
He went to her, shuddering in anticipation.  
Her smile was enough to send him rocketing skywards.

"Never thought you'd make me perspire.  
Never thought I'd do you the same.  
Never thought I'd fill with desire.  
Never thought I'd feel so ashamed.

Me and the dragon can chase all the pain away.  
So before I end my day, remember..  
My sweet prince, you are the one  
My sweet prince  
You are the one"

After breakfast, Dean told them that they had until the nightfall to prepare for the onslaught.  
He also told them that Cas had said that Catherine might be able to help, but hadn't said how.  
Sam resignedly powered up his laptop again. He would do the research thing. Again. And again, until he found anything.  
Bobby was walking around, shoving his cap back and fro on his head in an agitated manner. There just had to be something they could do.  
Maya looked anxious.  
Dean was watching Cat.

Cat was pacing the kitchen now, chewing her lip.  
What could the angel possibly have meant?  
Spells erecting a protective barrier needed to be extremely specific regarding whom they were supposed to bar from entry.  
They tended to be literally minded bastards, so to speak, demanding names, descriptions, you name it. Saying "worshippers of Ouron" by itself was not enough.  
She had learned that the hard way years ago.  
Even saying "let nobody enter" was a total washout, since there were dozens of ways someone could qualify as a somebody.  
Hiding Maya would not do much good, either. That would just mean she would hand herself, Dean, Sam and Bobby over on a platter to be tortured until they spilled the beans.  
She reached out and touched the nearest leyline.  
It was strong, calm and sure.  
She had discovered leylines differed greatly, almost like they had personalities.  
This one she could work with, she was sure._  
But in what way?  
She sighed and rubbed her eyes.

Sam, Dean and Bobby were taking stock of the perimeter fence and the slightly haphazard protective wall they had erected behind it.  
How much good it would do against mere humans, however misguided they might be, remained to be seen, but at least it would serve to keep the supernatural element outside.  
Dean put the finishing touches on the huge devil's trap securing the entrance from the road.  
Sam was painting some more on the rear of the lot and Bobby was walking the perimeter, looking for things they might have missed.

Dean leaned against an old, battered, tireless truck to get out of the sun for a while.  
He was worried. No, actually, he was beyond worried.  
Cat seemed to have no clue what Cas might have meant. She kept rattling off spells that wouldn't work and why they wouldn't.  
Needless to say, she would try to save them, no matter if she had figured out what would work or not. And then she would be taken from him and that just wasn't acceptable. It even wasn't something he could think about without wanting to puke his guts up. Or wanting to kill something.  
So it was his job to prevent that from happening.  
Only how?

It was the calm before the storm.  
They were sitting in the shade outside Bobby's house, waiting, sipping ice tea.  
Catherine was wearing a veiled look, grey eyes unreadable. Needless to say, that did nothing to ease Dean's worries.  
Maya seemed calm enough.  
"If all else fails, I can destroy the secret I am guarding."  
"And how will that help? They'll kill us then, for sure."  
"Maybe, but our lives…"  
"Maya, I don't hit women as a rule, but if you say that our lives don't matter, I will slap you three ways from Sunday," growled Bobby.  
Which was good, because it meant Dean could close his mouth again and use his energy to think about their conundrum some more. Conundrum, strange word. Sammy had used it and he had liked the sound of it. Conundrum….

Catherine was sure now she had found the way. If only she could be sure he wouldn't hate her for it.

They panned out to take up strategic positions.  
Only, how do you position yourself strategically around a vast lot, if there's only five of you?  
Dean tried to remember movies he had seen, where a small force of men held off a large number of attackers.  
He could recall a few, only none where the small force of men had lived to walk away in their original small numbers. Not reassuring much.  
Cat still had that unreadable expression on her face.  
He had tried to move her into a private corner to talk, but she had evaded him.  
Not a good sign, at least not in his book.  
After all, he was Mr. Avoidance of Things Uncomfortable and her behavior didn't say "I know what to do", even by a long stretch of imagination.  
From his vantage point on the wall, he could see them coming.  
More than fifty, surely.  
Much more.  
At least, they would go down fighting.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Episode 2 – Eyes filled up with blue**_

*Soundtrack*

Follow me up to Carlow, traditional Irish folk song  
Jace Everett – Bad Things  
T-Rex – Mambo Sun  
White Stripes – Seven Nation Army  
Babyshambles – Back from the dead  
Barclay James Harvest – Hymn  
Mink de Ville – Each Word's a Beat of My Heart  
Doors – Angels & Sailors  
Metallica – Low Man's Lyric

Chapter 1

The whiteness engulfed him. It used to feel like a friendly hand, but these days, it felt like torture.  
Castiel was being ripped a new one by his superiors. He almost smiled at that expression.  
His dealings with Dean Winchester made his language a lot more colourful than it had used to be.  
"We thought we had made it crystal clear to you that the matter will not be pursued further from our side. You had your chance to set things to right and you failed us. Not only that, but you disobeyed our direct orders as well as hid your failure from us until now."  
Castiel nodded in agreement. There was nothing else to do. He couldn't deny any of it.  
"And instead of learning your lesson, you go back to these humans."  
"I had to. I sent them on this mission, they are my responsibility."  
"Your responsibility, Castiel, is firstly and foremostly to the Heavenly Host."  
A tall, hooded figure stepped up to Castiel's superior and whispered something into his ear.  
"I see. Apologies." whispered the superior.  
The hooded figured said something else. It seemed to be making a point – and very decisively so.  
"As you wish."  
Castiel's superior cleared his throat and said aloud: "You may leave now, Castiel."

Castiel went to his quarters.  
To his surprise, the hooded figure was waiting for him there.  
A pale, elegant hand pulled back the hood.  
"Master," gasped Castiel. He had never seen the angel some called the Chief of Eagles in the flesh, but his chosen form made his identity clear right away.  
Castiel prepared himself for his end. Why else would he who had once called himself Azarias be here?  
It pained him greatly to have given his oft-times stubborn charge a mission that might be the end of him and now not be able to help him anymore. Dean Winchester was a special human being. He continued to puzzle and aggravate Castiel, yet the angel had never met a truer soul, swearing, drinking, frayed and tattered edges and all.  
He should not have set the current events in motion.  
"Yes, you should, Castiel," the Healer said. "You give the human so much credit, yet only seconds later, you give him none. He will prevail, your human charge. He cannot help himself, it is in his nature not to falter."  
"Master, forgive me, but why do you involve yourself in this?"  
"There are two reasons, Castiel. One is that I bound the demon Azazel so long ago, when maybe I should have smitten him. I am not the Sword Angel, I had too much pity. I do not know our Father's plans, so I can't tell if I made a mistake or not. Yet, the rising of Azazel caused so much pain…"  
"And the other reason?" Castiel whispered.  
"The other reason is personal, Castiel. I would beg you not to ask more."  
"I was forbidden to interfere in defeating the Cult of Ouron."  
"Consider it more a strong recommendation with room for your own sound judgments."  
"May I go down now, then?"  
"Not now, Castiel. This is nowhere near the decisive battle. It is merely a smallish spat, which Catherine, daughter of the daughters of Caitlin, will end in her very own way. For you see, my friend, when I give credit, I give it wholeheartedly. She will end this like she pulled your human charge from the brink of insanity, she will end this like she ended her father's demon-whoring. She will do what all the generations of Caitlin's daughters have done, she will protect what is hers."  
The seraph smiled.

The robed figures were drawing ever nearer.  
Dean swallowed hard. This was going to get ugly fast. He looked at the rather impressive line-up of shotguns and ammo in front of him. Wasn't going to save the day, but it sure looked comforting.  
He looked across the gate at Cat.  
She was standing very straight, her hair streaming in the gusty wind, eyes on the black clouds that loomed nearer.  
Dean briefly wondered if the change in the weather was something the robe guys had effected or if fate simply decided to bring on the mother of all thunderstorms to mark the occasion.

Cat was glad that her friend the Air Elemental had consented to send the thunderstorm their way. Bobby's lot would remain dry ground, though, she had seen to that.  
Now all that remained to be done was to make sure her little ploy would work. She had spent the last few hours trying to work out how exactly to apologize for what she was about to do.  
Nothing had come to mind.  
Boy, he would be beyond pissed off and that was a sight she actually did not want to see.  
But she hadn't been able to come up with anything else, so on her head be it. She had been expressly forbidden to use this particular spell, even though it was actually a family heirloom.

The thunderstorm was upon them now. Heavy drops of rain started to fall.  
There was not a moment to lose.  
Cat raised her hand.

Algernon Breathwaite was glowering at the latest reports from his team in South Dakota. They had let the Guardian slip from their fingers and were now launching a full-fledged assault on the human residence where the woman was hiding.  
This was not something the Cult of Ouron could afford. They might be noticed, word might spread and it was much too early in their game to give their newly strengthened presence away.  
Being at the top of the food chain of the Cult was not an easy task, when this was the pivotal time in what had been a 600 years long road towards their goal.  
He was the Nuncio of the Cult. A slightly silly sounding title, given that his direct reports were called Grandmasters, which sounded so much more imposing. But being Ouron's ambassador on Earth was a singularly powerful position, so neither the title, nor his name actually mattered. It was the role that inspired awe and struck fear in the hearts of his followers.

Dean looked at Cat. She looked like she was going to go to war.  
There was a glow around her outstretched hand.  
Suddenly, she started to sing.  
Her voice carried as if amplified.

Lift MacCahir Og your face  
Brooding o'er the old disgrace  
That black FitzWilliam stormed your place,  
Drove you to the Fern  
Grey said victory was sure  
Soon the firebrand he'd secure;  
Until he met at Glenmalure  
With Feach MacHugh O'Byrne.

Curse and swear Lord Kildare,  
Feach will do what Feach will dare  
Now FitzWilliam, have a care  
Fallen is your star, low.  
Up with halberd out with sword  
On we'll go for by the lord  
Feach MacHugh has given the word,  
Follow me up to Carlow.

See the swords of Glen Imayle,  
Flashing o'er the English pale  
See all the children of the Gael,  
Beneath O'Byrne's banners  
Rooster of the fighting stock,  
Would you let a Saxon cock  
Crow out upon an Irish rock,  
Fly up and teach him manners.

Curse and swear Lord Kildare,  
Feach will do what Feach will dare  
Now FitzWilliam, have a care  
Fallen is your star, low.  
Up with halberd out with sword  
On we'll go for by the lord  
Feach MacHugh has given the word,  
Follow me up to Carlow.

From Tassagart to Clonmore,  
There flows a stream of Saxon gore  
Oh, great is Rory Oge O'More,  
At sending loons to Hades.  
White is sick and Lane is fled,  
Now for black FitzWilliam's head  
We'll send it over, dripping red,  
To Liza and her ladies.

Curse and swear Lord Kildare,  
Feach will do what Feach will dare  
Now FitzWilliam, have a care  
Fallen is your star, low.  
Up with halberd out with sword  
On we'll go for by the lord  
Feach MacHugh has given the word,  
Follow me up to Carlow.

Their attackers stopped in their tracks, horrorstruck. It was a sight none of them had ever seen.  
With each word Catherine sang, more and more ghostly warriors stormed from the black clouds that had brought the thunder and the rain and started attacking the Cult of Ouron.  
They wore16th century Irish clothes and brandished broadswords.  
They were unstoppable.  
They ran down every last one of the robed assailants, showing them no mercy.  
Cat kept singing the song, over and over again until all their attackers had been slain.  
Then she stopped.  
The leader of the ghostly warriors stood up and looked straight at her.  
"I thank thee, Feach MacHugh O'Byrne. You saved me and mine, your work is done. Slán a chur le duine – I bid thee farewell."  
The warrior bowed and lead his men back into the storm clouds.

Chapter 2

Four pairs of eyes were staring hard at Catherine.  
Bobby voiced what they all felt: "What the fuck was that?"  
Cat was pale and looked tired.  
"That was one of those family heirlooms you don't go showing off in front of your girlfriends on a Sunday afternoon." she said.  
"Jesus Christ on a fucking bike!" Bobby was pale and agitated.  
Sam was apparently still trying to wrap his mind around what had just happened.  
He opened and closed his mouth, but didn't seem to find any words to say.  
She so didn't want to discuss what had happened, but a 16th century army of wild Irishmen coming out of storm clouds did require some explanations, at least.  
But please, not now.

"Dean, can you please take me somewhere? In the car? Just drive, please?"  
Oh God, let him say yes. She would explain everything, just please not now.

Now she needed the sold warmth and immediate reality of her man to hold on to.

I'm the kind to sit up in his room.  
Heart sick an' eyes filled up with blue.  
I don't know what you've done to me,  
But I know this much is true:  
I wanna do bad things with you.

They drove for hours.  
He took her back to the bedroom much later.  
She still hadn't said a word about any dead Irishmen, but that was perfectly okay with Dean for now.  
She had needed him and he would always put her needs before anything else.  
He had understood the need to be grounded in the here and now after what had happened, better than anybody else.  
Dean knew perfectly how to use the physical hunger to fill the void the backlash of too much of the supernatural left behind.  
He had done that for years and of all the ways to fill that void, this one was by far the healthiest.

At last, they fell asleep, exhausted and sated.

She breathed his name to the night and he came.  
Even in the colour-stealing darkness, his eyes shone lavender and his hair gleamed in a multitude of shades of gold, like a field of wheat, ruffled by wind, shimmering in the sunshine.

"Just how much trouble am I in, for using that spell?" she asked him without further ado.  
Wouldn't help to delay the inevitable punishment.

He laughed.  
Cat was flummoxed.

"None whatsoever." said Rafe, a smile still playing on his face.  
"But grandma always said…"  
"Your grandmother was an admirable woman, but not adverse to using a little bit of trickery to make sure her teenaged granddaughter wouldn't use spells she wasn't ready for."

"What do you mean?"

"Any old fool with half a brain and an ounce of magic can raise the dead from their resting place, but it takes a strong witch to put them back to rest again. And to make absolutely sure you wouldn't try, she decided to put a little bit of the fear of God in you. And what better way to do that than to say an archangel forbids it?"

Raphael was still smiling.  
Catherine's grandmother had been a wonderful woman.  
The seraph missed her and her wicked sense of humour, her honour and fairness and her sharp tongue acutely.  
She reminded him of that special one of her ancestors, the one that had saved his life once.  
He brushed a kiss on Catherine's forehead and was gone.

Raphael was alone in his quarters, contemplating the events that, several millennia ago, had set the rise of Lucifer in motion.

_"And again the Lord said to Raphael: 'Bind Azazel hand and foot, and cast him into the darkness: and make an opening in the desert, which is in Dudael, and cast him therein. And place upon him rough and jagged rocks, and cover him with darkness, and let him abide there for ever, and cover his face that he may not see light. And on the day of the great judgement he shall be cast into the fire."_

Thus it was written in the apocrypha.  
Sounded so easy, but in reality it had been anything but.  
Raphael had fought the demon for days until he had been able to subdue and bind him.  
He had been severely wounded in the fight, his body lacerated with poisoned bites and scratched, sword cuts and bruises.  
At the time, there hadn't been a speck of doubt in his mind that Azazel would never again be able to walk the Earth.  
How wrong he had been.  
Maybe he should have disobeyed his Father's order and maybe he should have smitten the demon. The world would have been spared so much pain.  
But in the end, he was merely the tool used to carry out the Lord's plans.  
It was not his place to question his orders, even though since that time in the 15th century, he frequently did. It had gotten him into trouble, he admitted, yet he couldn't help himself any longer. He didn't think his loyalty to the Lord and the cause he served had been compromised, even though there were those who thought that to question an order also meant he was questioning the very foundation of his being.  
That time back in the 15th century, when Lucifer had tricked him, he had become human for a while. Raphael still remembered the feelings and sensations he had had as a mortal man.

It had changed him forever, even though his powers had been fully restored and he had been given back his place in the Heavenly Host.

The seraph was feeling a pull, a pang, a fundamental sense of loss and loneliness, when he remembered the humans he had met then and the gift he had received.  
The most precious gift in all mankind.

He sighed and wished he could just reach out and touch someone, feel that physical closeness again and the sensation of belonging that came with it.

He suddenly found himself calling Castiel.  
Castiel, the only other angel in whom he sensed a similar longing.  
The angel he should have killed when he had upset the course of events the Lord's prophet had predicted. The angel for whom he again had defied a direct order and had faced punishment once more.

"You called, Master?" came the angel's soft voice.  
He was, as all other angels, a sight to see in his true form, yet Raphael for some reason preferred him when enclosed in the human form of his vessel.

"Castiel…" Now that he had called the angel, he didn't quite know why he had summoned him in the first place.  
"We must make sure that the humans receive the information they need. You will have to tell your charge the truth."  
Raphael could feel Castiel's distress.  
He understood it only too well.  
Castiel had erred on the side of kindness, had allowed his merciful side to get the better of him all those years ago.

"And we will have to inform them of the Cult's plan. I don't see any other way."  
The seraph sighed and looked at Castiel.  
He lifted his hand and gently touched the other angel's cheek.  
"We need to make sure we make no mistakes now. We have made too many already and the fate of the world can ill afford any more."  
Castiel stood very still.  
He had never been touched by any other angel before, not beyond being helped in battle or having his wounds tended or things like that.  
The seraph's touch was feather light and warm.  
Castiel suddenly wished that the touch would never end.

Chapter 3

Upon a savage lake  
Make no mistake I love you  
I got a powder-keg leg  
And my wig's all pooped for you

Somehow, Cat regretted not doing the big explanation thing in the evening after all.  
Somehow, it hadn't gotten easier overnight and mornings were… well, mornings.  
Cat was not a morning person.  
There, now she had said it.

Compared to Dean, however, she was Miss Congeniality even before her first cup of coffee.  
But then again, being a Hunter was not about being bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at 7 am, was it now? Not when it probably meant you had only crawled into bed battered and bruised at 5.

They sat at the kitchen table, doing some companionable team grouching.  
Maya was still asleep.

Good thing, too, as Cat really wanted to keep the audience for this information as small as she could manage.  
Bobby looked up from his plate. "I think we're still due some explanation 'bout yesterday, Catherine."  
"Yes, Bobby, I know and you will get it right away."  
Cat pushed her plate back and took a deep breath.

"We need to talk."

Saved by the bell, divine edition.  
Enter the angel.  
Dooo-dum, Metallica guitar riff.  
"Cas. Angel for breakfast. Always makes my day," thus quoth the prince of grouch.

"What's it this time, Cas?"

"I… sent you out with incomplete information." The angel had the good grace to look highly embarrassed and even a tad guilty.

"Gee, Cas, and here I was TRUSTING you so much. You, being the paragon of solid, comprehensive information." '  
Dean was faintly smug about remembering that word paragon. Especially given the time of day.  
He liked making points with words starting with plosives. Another good word he'd read somewhere. Plosive.  
Had a faint sweary ring to it.  
The angel should've waited until after the first mug of coffee.  
Weren't angels supposed to know shit like that?

Castiel sat down.  
It shouldn't matter that nobody had invited him to do so, yet for a strange reason, it had.

Dean sighed.

Angel sad little puppy face now? Where had the guy picked that up?  
Dean looked at him directly and said with a sigh: "Sorry, dude, should've told you to sit down."  
Dean Winchester apologizing.  
Not something that happened every day, even more rarely so actually using the word sorry to do so, instead of something long-winded and besides the point, with much hemming and hawing.  
Things seemed to have changed – but surely not just because Castiel had played cards and had eaten human food?

He cleared his throat.  
Not that he needed it, he just had observed that humans seemed to do that whenever they launched into an explanation that they were uncomfortable with.

"This… is my fault."

"What is?" Dean looked sharply at Cas.

"All of this. I was charged with the utter destruction of the Cult of Ouron. It was my duty to see to it that everyone connected to the Cult would be… punished."  
All the humans were looking at him.

Castiel briefly wondered if they would still play poker with him, if they would still laugh with him, now that they knew.

The experience had been… strangely enjoyable and Cas would have liked to get the chance to repeat it.

"Everyone meant every man, woman … and child. Yet when it came to that, I faltered. I… doubted that such innocent lives should be ended for the sins of their fathers."  
Castiel paused, remembering the blood and gore on the ground, on his sword and on himself.

The heavy, coppery smell of the blood, the stench of offal and fear.

The eyes of the children on him, the wrathful and terrible slayer of all they knew.  
The scared, innocent eyes of the children.

"So I spared the children. The eldest son of the Cult's deacon at the time was ten years old. Young enough, I had thought, to be saved, to be shown new ways. It was my error of judgement that brought this situation upon us."

"Actually, in my book that is…" Dean broke off, looking for words.  
Cas peered at Dean intently, with a look that seemed to hint he was bracing himself for a blow.  
"In my book, that was the fucking right thing to do. And fuck the consequences. You can't just go and slaughter children, man!"

This was definitely not what Castiel had expected. He had thought Dean would be livid that Cas had failed in his task. He didn't know what to make of the declaration that Dean would rather deal with the consequences of Cas' mutiny than have him kill children.  
"It was the Lord's will…" he started again.

"No. It was what your superiors TOLD you was the Lord's will. And we all know just how reliable their fucking intel is." Dean glared at Cas.  
He had a point there.

"Still…"

"Still what, Cas?"

"The outcome is dire. The son continued his father's work in secret. It appears that there were copies of … certain documents that the son used to rebuild the Cult. He managed to kept them off our radar for the last couple of hundred years and now they are back and I am…"  
Cas fell silent.  
He tilted his head again, as if to remember the right expression, the correct emotion to come up with given the situation.  
"I am up shit creek without a paddle, I believe you said the technical term was, Dean."

And I'm bleeding, and I'm bleeding, and I'm bleeding  
Right before the lord  
All the words are gonna bleed from me  
And I will sing no more  
And the stains coming from my blood  
Tell me go back home

Dean groaned inwardly.  
It was so painfully obvious where this was heading.  
Angel business just never seemed to be finished. You did one job, then they would shove the next one at you and then they'd just kept 'em coming.  
Problem was, Dean kinda liked the guy.  
Castiel admittedly was an acquired taste, but just lately, he seemed to be coming along nicely. Loosening up a bit, becoming more human.  
Kinda growing into his vessel.  
Funny thought that.  
So Dean just couldn't say no, could he now?  
Would be like letting down a friend.

So he braced himself for the inevitable and asked: "Okay, what exactly seems to be the problem?"

"I am again charged with destroying the Cult. Yet I seem to be unable to find them."

"How do you mean?"

"I receive information about a Cult cell somewhere. I go there, ready to… do the inevitable, yet there is nobody there. Over and over again, this happens."

"Cas, sometimes your dipshittiness amazes even me. You, like, got no clue what that means?"  
Dean breathed a mirthless laugh into his coffee and ran his hand over his eyes.  
That guy was amazing.  
Did Cas ever learn?

"It means I am failing. It means I am not doing my duty. AGAIN."  
Puzzle stance AND what went for Cas' upset face.  
Un-be-fucking-lievable.  
He just didn't get it at all, went right back into his cosy little guilt trip corner.

"No man, it means you're being played for a sucker. Someone upstairs is feeding these fuckers information, someone warns them of your coming."

Castiel was thunderstruck.  
He had not even contemplated this, so intent had he been on the bitter taste of his own failure.  
His own repeated failure.

"So, we do this our way from here on out. We gather the intel, we send you places, you keep your mouth shut about it to anybody."

"There is someone I will have to…"

"Cas, have you been listening to a single word I said?"  
"I have and I concede that you are probably right. The … person I need to inform, however, is beyond a shadow of a doubt and also has been enabling me to come here at all."

Dean opened his mouth again, but Cat interrupted him.  
"Leave it be, he is right in this case."  
"Haven't forgotten about you and freakin' ghosts of goddamned Irishmen, Cat, wait your turn." Dean snapped.  
He actually snapped at her. As if any of this had been her fault. How dare he?  
Cat got up.

"Kindly remember that I had just sat down with you all to explain that. And kindly mind your manners with me."

Morning person or not, that excuse only went so far.

Chapter 4

Catherine was pacing.  
She was angry, maybe unreasonably so, but she just wasn't prepared to be the one Dean got angry with when someone else was the cause for it.

Dean walked out to her.

"What was that supposed to be?"

Total, utter bewilderment in his baby greens, Dean stood before her.

"That was me letting you know that I will not be snapped at because you're mad at someone else."

"Oh, okay, good thing then that I actually really was mad at you," said Dean, in a calm voice. "I've so had it with all the secrets and hints and shitty statements I'm expected just to take at face value."

Catherine looked at him.  
How unusual for him to just come out and say what actually bothered him, without the usual Deanisms.  
"You know," he continued, "I had expected more openness after we did that bonding thing. I had expected you to square with me, tell me things. And actually, I had thought you had."  
"There is one more thing, Dean, just this one. And it is very much not my secret to tell."

"For someone who expects me to trust you with stuff of this caliber, you sure as hell don't seem to trust me much in return."

I heard it said  
You had come back from the dead  
You were playing so fine  
Scooping up the soul of the wine

Courage my boy, when you look them in the eye  
Try not to look too scummy

There was a hint of bitterness in Dean's voice, as he turned away from her.

Cat put her hand on his shoulder.

"I trust you absolutely, with my life, my sanity, my soul, Dean. With all that is mine to tell or to give, I trust you."

He felt her then, through the bond.

Strong and sure.

Why did she take that feeling away all the time?

He didn't know how to hold on to it, how to make her leave that… thing in place. He couldn't even explain what it felt like. Maybe like an umbilical cord, connecting them, nurturing them.

But all the time, she closed some door on him and it was gone – and the empty feeling it left behind was killing him.

Her hand rubbed his shoulder.

She could feel his need, feel what it always did to him when she had to sever the connection, because if she didn't he would KNOW.

It did the same to her, but she was so used to not being in one piece, she felt she could bear it.

But for his sake, this had to end now.  
Dean had given himself freely to the bond, had done all he could, was the best man anyone could ask for in so many respects, he did not deserve to be cut off from what he had actually fought for so hard.

She put her forehead against his strong, lean back and whispered: "Raphael."

With a rustle of wings, he came to her.

It was a mean thing to do, knowing that he had no choice but to come when she called him. Knowing he would tell all if she asked, no matter the cost to himself.

"Catherine."

She felt Dean jump underneath her hand.

"Tell him, please," she whispered.

"Catherine…" Raphael's voice was pleading.

"He needs to know."

Her voice was harsh.  
She wouldn't risk the one thing she had ever had that worth living for to keep an over 500 year old secret for a moment longer.

"Very well. I will not risk your happiness to save me embarrassment," said the Chief of Eagles softly.

Catherine turned around and had to smile.

Apparently, coming clean about the speck on Rafe's lilywhite vest required being vastly impressive, so the seraph wore his full armour this time and had not hidden away his wings upon arrival.

"Dean, please say hello to Raphael."

Valley's deep and the mountain's so high  
If you want to see God you've got to move on the other side  
You stand up there with your head in the clouds  
Don't try to fly you know you might not come down

Dean turned around to what easily was the biggest spectacle in his entire life.  
Given what he did for a living, that was saying a whole fucking lot.

Before him stood the tall, lavender-eyed man he knew as Rafe.

Only he wasn't a man at all.

He was an angel.

In full battle armour, sword and all.

And wings.

Dean whistled softly.

Fucking WINGS, man.  
Huge, opalescent, goddamned blindingly beautiful wings.

"I am Raphael, the Healer. One of the Seven who stand before the face of the Lord." The angel declared a little too grandly for Dean's liking - and a little too nebulously.

"Uh."

The seraph smiled and shrugged.  
Wings and armour vanished and he stood before Dean in a hoodie and jeans.  
"I am an archangel."

"Oh. So… We got upgraded, or what? Frequent traveler status and now we got the gold card service?"  
Raphael blinked rapidly, trying to catch the human's meaning.

"No. I am and always have been Catherine's to call, it's to her I answer exclusively."

Dean whistled again.  
So his woman somehow had an archangel by the short and curlies.

Oops, now, that expression was… plain wrong.

Dean shrugged inwardly and thought it didn't matter much, anyway.  
God already knew he swore a blue streak even on a good day and this one wasn't looking like even a middlin' day right now.

Angel, regular variety with his first coffee and angel, supercharged with his second.

"I think we need to talk in private, Dean."

Dean looked questioningly at Cat.

Catherine nodded in agreement and went back inside to make sure these two remained undisturbed.

There was a glint of uncertainty in those lavender eyes focused on him, Dean thought.

Even after all those years, it still hurt to tell the story. Yet tell it he must.

Raphael started telling the tale with hesitant, terse words.

Slowly at first, then faster and with more certainty, as the tale spun on.  
How he had fought Lucifer for the soul of a human, how he had been tricked by him who used to be his brother.

How Lucifer had wrenched Raphael's wings from his back and made him mortal.

How he had been sold into slavery, his body torn, his mind broken.

How he had learned to be human from Djoura, the Berber woman, his fellow slave.

His mood and tone got lighter, when he told Dean about the friends he had made, besides Djoura. There was Saara of the Sami, arguably the greatest witch in the Italies, possibly in all of Europe.  
A woman of quirky humour and high spirits, a strong fighter, a loyal friend, a warm companion.

Damiano, the lutists, who had been his friend before, but who had saved Raphael when he became human, kept him sane, even though Damiano had only been a ghost by then.

Oolong, the black dragon, keeper of the Pearl of Wisdom, seeker of truths. A formidable creature and a soul possessing true greatness.

The seraph paused briefly, collecting himself before what definitely was the most important part of his tale.

His voice grew husky when he told Dean of Ama, the Arab girl who had taught him the meaning of lust and how to love someone with more than his heart and mind.

How the child he had fathered as a human was born possessing a piece of Raphael's Grace.

How this Grace was passed on, generation to generation, undiluted in its power, from the last Moorish Kingdom in Spain in Granada to Rennaissance Florence, where the line had almost died.

Dean swallowed hard at that point, remembering the cold sting of steel in his back.

But a sister had been born, unexpectedly, late in her mother's life, given the time and age.  
So the story could move on across Europe, then to America, here from New York to New Orleans.

Generation upon generation, line upon line, always there would be a girl with the seraph's Grace in her.

And he told Dean how he was bound to the daughters of Ama until the day he would cease to exist.

The children of his child.  
The child he should never have had and yet could not consider anything but a pure blessing.  
The child born of a woman who had taught him more than he had thought he could ever learn.

Dean sat on a crate, hunched forward, hands clasped, shoulders shaking with mirth.  
He just couldn't help himself, even though another part of him had been incredibly moved by the angel's story.  
Plus, the fact that Cat… holy crap, that needed some serious pondering, but later.  
It was the other bit that really, really blew him.  
Angel sex and children out of wedlock.  
Hell's bells, this was just too rich.

"What is so funny?" the seraph asked in genuine puzzlement and without rancor.

"Dude, if only you knew how many motherfuckin' hours I sat wondering why you guys had to choose me of all people to be your champion. Now it's all crystal clear to me."

Dean convulsed with laughter.

"You guys get me. You totally get me. Dog to dog. Dude, this is hilarious. You are just like me as soon as you're given half the chance. Can't resist it. You turn human and it's all sex, drugs and rock'n' roll from here on out."

Raphael paused to ponder this statement.  
Some sort of reaction seemed required, but the seraph couldn't find it.  
He had the distinct feeling that Saara of the Saami in her earthy way would have understood and maybe even agreed.

Chapter 5

So please  
listen close  
'cause each word's a beat of my heart.  
someway  
somehow  
I'll find  
how to say what's on my mind  
'till then you'll have to read my eyes.

Cat was telling the story of how the children of the Gael had defeated the English at Carlow.  
With, it seemed, a bit of intervention from one of Cat's ancestors, a witch named Caitlin.

Dean walked in, grinning like a jackass and shaking his head repeatedly.

Okay.  
Of all the reactions, this was not one…  
Shit. Cat stopped herself, as it dawned on her.

Wait a minute, that was EXACTLY the one she should've expected.

Knowing Dean, he had said something unbelievably outrageous to Raphael in comment to being told that an archangel had not only had sex once upon a time, but had also fathered a definitely illegitimate child.

Cat groaned inwardly.  
Please, let it not have been too tasteless.

She went on with the story, hoping that this train of thought had not been out there in the open for all to see on her face.

"Feach MacHugh O'Byrne swore he would defend Caitlin and her relations, come what may, if ever they needed him, in return for what she did that day."

"And you just have to say something like that to a witch and you're hooked even beyond death?" Bobby said, clearly going over every single thing he had ever said to Cat since they had met.

Cat laughed.

"No. Feach swore a blood oath to that. Fire, blood, metal and a witch, such is the stuff calling on the dead is made of."

Dean cleared his throat, wondering how he should ask his question, when clearly the whole Raphael shit was a secret.

"Uh… Ireland wasn't… mentioned…?"

"No. Ireland was the home of my other line of ancestors, the one that married into THAT line in Florence. Caitlin's brother made himself indispensable to an old man, Vittorio de Cesare and was adopted. He married the… other ancestress and they in turn had Maria."

Cat looked at Dean.  
He wore that strained expression he always got whenever the subject of the events in Florence in 1582 were discussed.  
How narrowly they had escaped losing each other forever then.  
The line had almost been broken.  
And had Caitlin not meddled in Irish history only two years prior to the events in Florence, the Cult of Ouron's first attack yesterday might well have been successful and their lives would have been at peril again.

It was staggering to even imagine the scrawl these bloodlines made on the map, both where time and history were concerned.  
Try imagining taking care of the affairs of this entire world…

From the look in her bondmate's eyes, she could tell that Dean was thinking the same.

I will never treat you mean  
Never start no kind of scene  
I'll tell you every place and person that I've been.

Dude, angel business sucked the big one.

Holy crap, talk about mind-bogglingly complex!

Yet still, he didn't want to start worrying about the complexity of this or the thing they were attempting at this point.

He felt, by and large, like a million bucks right now, because finally, Cat wasn't cutting their connection anymore.  
She was there, like the nice, steady throb of a Metallica tune, calming him, making him happy, making him strong, making him whole.  
And on top of the magic he knew, there was also the shining beacon of the other power.

He was, it seemed, basking in the sun of her Grace.

Castiel had listened intently to Catherine's story.

He found this very interesting and he didn't think he had ever encountered a human before who could trace both lines of the family with such accuracy almost up to the threshold of the Dark Ages.

Now he was looking at Dean.  
There was a distinct change in him, Cas thought, tilting his head slightly as he concentrated on this change.

Dean had looked much healthier and more at ease with himself already when Cas had returned to him just recently, but now there was again a marked improvement in the way he held himself, in the look in the human's fairly fascinating green eyes.  
A sparkle that had not been there before.  
An assuredness that was entirely new and very different from the defiant bravado which used to be there before.

Sam was enjoying himself thoroughly. This was so feeding his inner research geek, it was unreal. So much historical fact, so much to read up on.

Also, he felt that it helped to bring them closer together. Catherine seemed more willing to trust them all and that in turn seemed to make Dean somehow… more… himself.

Plus, the way he saw it, they now had a whole army at their disposal, in case the situation might call for it again.  
That went a long way towards assuring him that they could indeed do what Dean had heaped on their plate with his assurance that they would be taking care of Castiel's troubles now. Going against a whole Cult, unknown in numbers, unknown in locations, unknown in strengths and weaknesses.

Suddenly, Sam noticed a stranger standing in Bobby's kitchen.  
A tall, blonde man with strange lavender eyes was watching them intently.

"Hey, who the fuck are you?"

The seraph had followed Dean inside and had enjoyed listening to the old story of Feach MacHugh O'Byrne and Caitlin the witch.

She had been one amazing woman as well.

Raphael smiled at the one last piece of the puzzle he had kept to himself, namely that Cat was twice connected to him, in a way.  
Another direct line of daughters, leading directly from his friend Saara of the Saami to his beloved Catherine, the most powerful witch since her ancestress, the little bird of the North, the woman who had first called him the Chief of Eagles.

"Sammy, Bobby, meet Rafe," said Dean, thinking Castiel wouldn't need an introduction to the bossman.

"He's… uh."  
Great. Now what?  
Cat's great-repeat-a-gadzillion-times-grandfather?

An archangel?

"Rafe's an old friend of my family," said Cat softly, grabbing Dean's hand under the table and squeezing it.  
He squeezed back.  
And contemplated if he could maybe cop a feel, while everybody was busy looking at the newcomer.

Cat pulled her hand away with such a stern look that said that as with all good things in life, the umbilical thingie had its downsides, too.

Maya walked into the room at this moment.

The Guardian had needed the rest and was grateful that nobody had thought to wake her for breakfast. She smiled warmly at the people gathered around the table, with an extra spark for Castiel.  
Then she saw the silent figure leaning in the kitchen doorway.

She gasped and fell to her knees in supplication.

"Seraph. Have I failed thee?"

Raphael frowned at her.

"No, Guardian, you have not. Although I would have preferred had you not given me away like that."

The Guardian looked distraught.  
Raphael immediately smiled at her kindly and said: "But how were you to know that. Not to worry, Maya."

Bobby was in shock.  
He didn't think he could have possibly heard this one right.  
Having Castiel in his kitchen was one thing, but a fucking archangel?????  
They were the personification of the Lord's Wrath, His ultimate warriors, so what on earth could he be doing here?

Lavender eyes met his.  
Bobby shuddered.

"I am here to help."

Bobby saw things in those eyes.  
Things he didn't want to see.  
Yet he could not look away.

The seraph closed his eyes until Bobby recovered his equilibrium.  
Some people could see shadows of the things he had seen, the things he had done, in his eyes.  
If he looked at them for too long, they would go insane.

Raphael needed this contact with humans.  
It served to remind him about the limits of limitless power.  
The only one between him and the abyss of returning to be the Lord's perfect, unthinking weapon was the tiny rest of the human soul within him. Absolute obedience was not an option anymore. Raphael was not sure anymore that it was fair to leave the human race at the mercy of the Liar, saying that those who will be tempted are to blame for their downfall, not putting the Tempter in their midst.

He could see a similar thing in Castiel.  
It made himself long to be closer to the other angel.

It was little things that served to remind him of who he wanted to be and who he could so easily become again instead.

Cat had shown him a … cartoon, it had been called, hadn't it? She had been 7 years old and she had explained about the character, garbed as he was in a strange suit of red and blue.  
And she had read something out to him.

With great power comes great responsibility.

Possibly, the humans would find it funny for an archangel to have taken the words to heart, written as they were on cheap paper by a man who made a living that way.  
No, not possibly, Raphael thought with a smile.  
Dean Winchester would go straight back into a fit of helpless laughter, just like before.

Chapter 6

Algernon Breathwaite was livid.

"What do you mean they are all gone? How can an entire chapter of the Cult be just gone?"

The subordinate trembled.

"I.. I don't know, Nuncio. They informed me that they had started their attack and then suddenly, nothing. I can't reach anyone, by any means at my disposal."

Clearly, that man was an imbecile and given the way he trembled, a spineless one at that. Algernon Braithwaite had no use for such people.

With a downward swipe of his hand, he cut the hapless idiot open from throat to crotch. That way, he at least would be good for one purpose, namely the gathering of the information the imbecile hadn't been able to gather while he was still alive.

The Nuncio crouched down and raked his fingers through the man's slick entrails, trying to read the destiny of his army.

He roared with anger.

There was nothing there.

Nothing!

My eyes seek reality  
My fingers feel for faith  
Touch clean with a dirty hand  
I touch the clean to the waste

Cat wasn't sure they would be able to pull this off.

The Cult of Ouron's goals were still unknown to them, so were the Cult members' whereabouts.  
So they would be fighting an unknown number of people in an unknown location (or even locations?), without any clue what they were supposed to stop them from or what they could be capable of!  
And if that wasn't enough to drive anyone to distraction, then there was the other possible problem.

If Castiel was right, then there were traitors among the angels.  
Catherine had been prepared to disregard this possibility outright, but Dean's reaction spoke of darker experiences with the Heavenly Hosts.  
And then there was the fact that Rafe hadn't denied the possibility, either.  
That alone would be enough to make Cat shiver.

They were discussing the best possible options on how to find all possible lairs of the Cult of Ouron – and fast. Actually, they were currently trying to find AN option.  
Just one would do.  
Maybe even half an option would be workable.

ANYTHING.  
The queries Sam had run on the web went nowhere fast and with each search that ran to nothing, they grew more desperate.

Cat left the boys to their endless discussion on what they could still try.  
There was one last path worth pursuing. If she said anything, they would be discussing again and she was just so tired of all the words.  
It felt as if she had done nothing but talk all day and they hadn't gotten anywhere.

She quietly went outside and kept walking until she came to the makeshift gates they had put into their likewise makeshift defense wall.

She walked out to where the Gaels had killed the Cult members and started walking the perimeter, looking for clues.

After an hour out in the hot sun, she had covered the grounds and had found a handful of items, including a cell phone.

She went back inside and slapped her treasure on the table, before helping herself to some ice cold water from the fridge.

"What's that?"

"Stuff that in all likelihood belonged to our attackers. I found it outside the gate."

Sam picked up the phone, then rummaged through his things to see if he could find a fitting cable to connect it to the laptop.

"Bingo!" There was no mistaking the excitement in his voice.  
He started downloading the info from the phone.

"Last dialed and most dialed number was in Calvary, Kentucky. I think I can even get us an address."

Sam was smiling broadly. Maybe their luck was changing after all.

Dean frowned.  
They should've thought of searching the grounds much sooner. He should've thought of that much sooner.  
He had to keep this gig together, Cas and his business was Dean's responsibility, after all.

Dean had checked the way on the map and was just going to do his usual yee-haw thing, giddy upping and going and making some slick comment about it, when Cat held up her hand.  
"Castiel, would you kindly find out if there are any other places we should go?"  
The angel looked at Cat with his incredible blue eyes and nodded. His expression was completely unreadable.  
He started to pick up the other odd and ends on the table.

A lighter, a belt buckle, a key ring, a monogrammed handkerchief and a pocket knife.  
Castiel's fingers were gliding over the items' surfaces, his expression intent.  
When he came to the last piece on the table, a silver pendant, he stilled, chin tilted upwards, eyes half closing.  
The tip of his index finger slid ever so gently across the small silver elephant. Back and forth it rubbed, over the tiny trunk, then following the line all the way across the body to the minute tail.  
"Hephzibah, Georgia," whispered the angel. "The others all hailed from South Dakota and there is none of those left in their lair, I checked. The Gaels killed them all."

"Okay," said Dean, running his hand through his hair.  
He wasn't even gonna ask how. Some things were better left alone.  
"Cat, me and Rafe to Kentucky, Sam, Bobby and Cas to Georgia?"  
The others nodded in agreement.

"And what do I do?" asked Maya.

"Stay here, holed up tight, and stay safe," said Bobby.

"We take the car, we don't do angel shit, understood?" said Dean tersely. "We can't afford making waves in your kind of circles."

"Agreed," said Raphael. He had to hand it to the human, when it came down to smelling a rat – was that the term? – Dean Winchester had a superb sense of smell.  
Castiel simply nodded.

They walked to the cars.

The road was waiting.

As Dean started the engine, the radio started playing that goddamned Kansas song again.  
He really hated that thing and its cheap "don't give up" sermon.

Carry on. Yeah, right.  
No matter what the Winchester sons did, there would most likely never be peace, because they would never be done.

He slammed a Metallica tape into the player with maybe a little too much force.


	3. Chapter 3

_**Episode 3 – Me, I like sleeping**_

*Soundtrack*

Used so far:  
Metallica – Whiskey in the Jar  
Robbie Williams – Feel  
Ceasars – Jerk it out  
Sheb Wooley – Purple People Eater  
David Bowie – Width of a Circle  
Boo! – Wishboan  
Eric Clapton & JJ. Cale – Heads in Georgia  
Doors – Roadhouse Blues  
Willy de Ville – Slave to Love  
Jefferson Airplane – Don't you want somebody to love  
Beatles – A Day in the Life  
The Brandos - Partners  
Kiss – I Was Made For Lovin' You  
Al Stewart – Year of the Cat  
Al Stewart – On the Border  
George Michael – I Want Your Sex  
Doors – End of the Night  
Lee Dorsey – Give it up  
Beatles – Golden Slumbers  
Johnny Cash – Desperado  
A girl called Eddy – Golden  
Willy de Ville – Angels Don't Lie

Intro

[Road scenes. Small vignettes, with sharp cuts between the individual frames. Setting the mood for what is to come.]

Now some men like the fishing  
And some men like fowling  
And some men like to hear,  
To hear the cannonball a-roaring  
Me - I like sleeping  
Especially in my Molly`s chamber  
But here I am in prison,  
Here I am with a ball and chain, yeah

The towns that flew by the car windows blurred into one, the highway just went on and on.

Bobby was tired, bone weary.  
Somehow, he couldn't quite seem to find his feet again.  
Ever since that fucking hellhound had dragged Dean away, it had been one draining day after the other, with no time to recharge the batteries at all. And let's face it, he wasn't as young as he used to be.

And what they had to deal with.  
After the angels and the seals and Lucifer rising and all, crazy cults and armies of the dead looked like just another day, another dollar to him.  
Just another day at the office.  
Except, in this line of work, a mistake meant you could die.

Bobby wasn't altogether sure he could do this shit anymore. It just got harder every day to put on the "Bobby Singer, Hunter, badass mofo" face. It got harder to go through the motions. It got harder to get the job done.

It just got plain harder, period.  
Couldn't let the boys down, though. They needed him. And he needed them. Closest thing to a family he had, after all he'd lost.  
Wouldn't do to let them down.  
So he'd have to pull himself together some.

Come on hold my hand,  
I wanna contact the living.  
Not sure I understand,  
This role I've been given.  
I sit and talk to god  
And he just laughs at my plans,  
My head speaks a language, I don't understand.

Castiel was sitting in the backseat of Bobby's old car.  
He didn't understand what was happening to him.  
Everything felt… he couldn't even say it felt strange to him, because he had never felt much at all, but now, he felt.  
Felt everything.  
And he was helpless against what it did to him.

There was cracked and torn fake leather under his hand. It fascinated him.  
He ran his thumb over it in slow circles and savoured the texture. Couldn't stop, it just… felt… so good.  
He had rolled the window down and a steady, yet capricious breeze was playing over his face.  
He laid his head against the doorjamb.  
Cool metal against his skin. He moved his head back and forth, rubbing his skin over the smooth coolness.  
He felt raw, totally defenseless against this onslaught of sensation.

A gust of hot air slapped his cheek.  
He almost moaned.

So intense…

coz it's easy once you know how it's done  
you can't stop now  
it's already begun  
you feel it  
running through your bones  
and you jerk it out

Sam was restless.  
He had been dreaming lately, vivid dreams that reminded him of the time it had all started.  
Which couldn't be, because he'd left all that behind him in that goddamned convent, hadn't he?  
He didn't know if he should say something – let alone to whom.  
Dean would freak, that much seemed sure. He couldn't put his brother through all that again, not after the… when Dean had…

Sam swallowed hard.  
Bobby had looked worn lately, so maybe he shouldn't be talking to him, either.  
He might run this by Cat, maybe. She had not been involved in all that and might also be more open-minded.

It might be nothing, really.  
So far, nothing of what he had dreamed about had even remotely come true.  
It had just been too intense, compared to the normal way he dreamt. Yet the whole stuff had been so beyond surreal that it couldn't possibly be in any way prophetic, because there just was no way any of this could ever happen.  
Still, it bothered him.

Well he came down to earth and he lit in a tree  
I said Mr. Purple People Eater, don't eat me  
I heard him say in a voice so gruff  
I wouldn't eat you cuz you're so tough

Of all the fucking, non-Dean, zero street cred songs to have stuck in one's head.  
REALLY.

He said it's eatin' purple people and it sure is fine

He squirmed in his seat.

Cat was driving.  
At one point, the road had become so blurred, he had woken her up to take the wheel.  
Now he couldn't even sleep.  
He usually had no problem sleeping in the car, but this whole business was still so unclear, with so many unknowns in the equation that he just couldn't seem to rest.

Pigeon-toed, undergrowed, flyin' purple people eater

Fuck, he had to sleep.

Sammy had seemed mighty preoccupied.  
He should've asked Sam what was up. Damn, he had sworn to himself that he wouldn't make the mistake of not opening his fucking trap again.

Playin' rock and roll music through the horn in his head

Please, make that stop, somebody.

Dean rubbed his burning eyes.

He swallowed his pride and puckered his lips

And showed me the leather belt round his hips

My knees were shaking my cheeks aflame

He said "You'll never go down to the Gods again"

(Turn around,go back!)

He struck the ground a cavern appeared

And I smelt the burning pit of fear

We crashed a thousand yards below

I said "Do it again, do it again"

(Turn around,go back!)

Raphael was dreaming.  
Strange, because he usually didn't.  
Couldn't.  
But he was very sure he was sleeping and he saw blue eyes.  
Felt the presence.

Longed to touch.

He smiled.

will respect all the secrets onto me you whisper  
I'll tell you mine all you need to do, love, is listen  
I host the hope in the love that is between us  
And may this love the only thing that comes between us

Oh my wishboan, oh my shooting star  
Walk with me

Cat was driving fast.  
Under normal circumstances, she would be enjoying herself. She loved driving the Impala, loved feeling the thrust of the engine, loved hearing that growly purr it made.  
Tonight, though, she was a little worried, because Dean had woken her up, saying he was too tired to drive on, but now he just didn't seem to be able to fall asleep.

Even without looking over, she could feel him shift restlessly in his seat, trying to get comfortable and failing miserably.

Rafe on the backseat, in contrast, was apparently fast asleep and in a good place, too. There was a soft smile on his lips.

Cat put her right hand on Dean's thigh.  
He immediately covered it with his, lacing his fingers through hers. She moved both their hands over to her thigh, then let go to grab the wheel properly again.  
One-armed driving for extended periods of time was simply not a good idea when you were doing over 90.  
Dean turned towards her. He looked at her with tired, bloodshot eyes and then closed them deliberately.  
After a little while, she could finally feel him relax, his breath slowing.

She would see to it that they got to their destination by morning.

Chapter 1

Trains and airplanes is all we do, I'm running half the time just like she wants me to  
Makes me no difference to me when all is said and done, headed west toward the setting sun

Well my heads in Georgia but my feet is California bound  
Cause that good looking woman I got wants to leave these Georgia towns

Of all the godforsaken…  
Sam looked around Hephzibah, Georgia.  
Didn't take long.  
Not much of a town, all in all.  
Could take it all in in just one motion of the head, left to right.  
For one brief moment, Sam contemplated just walking up to the old ladies on the porch of the nearest house and asking one of the pink rinsed lot if she, by any chance, belonged to an evil cult.  
It would almost be worth it, just to see the look on her face.

There were magnolia trees, the air was hot and humid and it looked just like a place in Georgia should. Porches, people in rocking chairs, fanning themselves, insects humming lazily, the lot.  
Of course, there was no garish neon sign saying "Cult of Ouron thataway".  
As a matter of fact, the scene couldn't have been more peaceful.  
A sleepy dog in the shade of the porch next to where Sam was standing in the sweltering heat opened one eye lazily. Assessing that Sam didn't pose a threat and probably wasn't carrying a snack, either, he slowly closed it again and sighed a doggie sigh.  
Sam decided he'd give the ladies with the pink rinses a shot after all.  
A diplomatic, puppy dog eyed Sam Winchester shot.

"Good day. Excuse me, ladies, my name is Sam Hutchence and I'm a reporter with the Savannah Morning News newspaper."  
Patented half-goofy, half pleading, totally winsome smile in place.  
The pink rinse gang smiled and fluttered and wished him a good day, too, effusively.  
The pink rinse top dog smiled flirtatiously up at him.  
"And what brings you to Hephzibah, all the way down from Savannah, young man?"  
"There have been reports of some strange goings-on in the area, ma'am, and I'd like to get to the bottom of that. Is there… anything… strange going on around here?"  
"Well, unless you count all those strangers coming here and stayin' out at the old Hephzibah Inn, nothin' comes to my mind, young man."  
"The Hephzibah Inn? Well, it's probably not related to what I am investigating, but would you mind telling me how to get there? I'd be much obliged, ma'am. My editor is really giving me a hard time, see?" Puppy-dogged her again.

Sam walked back to the car, while the ladies started discussing what a nice young man he was.  
Well, good thing they didn't know what he did for a living.  
Well, not.. for a living, of course. But… well, his calling, or whatever.  
"Bobby, there's an old inn a few miles down the road. Old ladies back there said there's a lot of strangers going there."  
Sam cast a glance at the backseat.  
The angel's head was still leaning against the doorjamb.  
He was wondering what the fuck was wrong with Castiel.  
The angel had sat in the back of the car with closed eyes, but definitely hadn't been sleeping. He wore a strange, sort of rapt expression and he'd just moved around a lot, but not restlessly, either. Kind of… well, if we weren't talking angel here, Sam would have said Castiel was moving around in a sensual way, almost sexy.

Keep your eyes on the road,  
Your hands upon the wheel.  
Keep your eyes on the road  
Your hands upon the wheel.  
Yeah, we're going to the roadhouse,  
Gonna have a real good-time.

Cat eased the Impala into the parking lot of yet another shitty motel, this time in Calvary, Kentucky. Not that they had had any choice in the matter, because Calvary was a one-shitty-motel kind of town.

Dean was still sleeping.  
Raphael had woken as they had crossed into Kentucky sometime after sunrise.

She gently shook Dean awake.

"We're there."  
It didn't take nearly long enough for Cat's taste for the confused, sleepy and utterly adorable look to leave Dean's face.

They checked into the motel and then immediately headed out to see if they could come up with any clues.

"For one helluva small town, there is fuck all intel to be gathered from anyone. I mean, large groups of people, like a freakin' cult, ought to make a dent, right?"  
Dean ran his hand through his hair in an exasperated manner, making it stick up even more.

There was nothing, plain and simple.  
No inordinate amounts of strangers showing up, no weird going-ons anywhere, in fact not even as much as a lost puppy dog.

Just one helpful, white bread, all-American town.

Neck rub, eye rub, hair again, the full displeased Dean spiel.  
Cat could've kissed him silly, if they hadn't just come up with the biggest pile of nothing at the worst possible of moments.

Rafe's calm voice washed over them.

"Maybe we are looking for the wrong thing here."

"How do you mean," said Dean in a gruff voice.

"What if this is not a Cult headquarters kind of place, but rather someone's home? What if some major player of the Cult quite simply lives here and has done so for a long time? If that person had been very careful not to conduct any obvious Cult activities here, he would simply not stick out."

Dean was pondering the seraph's words.  
Guy had a point there.  
Now what to make of it? How to put it to use?  
Think, Dean, think.

He said slowly: "If you're a major Cult player, though, you can't go without practicing any form of … worship or something. So for that to go unnoticed, I guess we would be looking for someone owning a house. Possibly not smack in the town center, possibly big enough to hold the occasional Cult gathering, masquerading as birthday party or such. Basement would be a plus."

Cat rifled through the papers she got from the registry office.  
House owners, property rights, roads, pipes, ducts, the whole freaking setup of your average American small town.

She slapped six building plans and assorted certificates on the table.

"These six, I'd say, fit the bill."

You're running with me  
Don't touch the ground  
We're the restless hearted  
Not the chained and bound  
The sky is burning  
A sea of flame  
Though your world is changing  
I will be the same

Castiel tried to pull himself together.  
He had to.  
He still didn't know what on earth was happening to him.  
He was losing his grip on everything.  
He was a slave to sensations he had never known before. He couldn't help but touch everything he came across.  
It all felt exquisite to him. New, strange and exhilarating.

His heart was singing with the joy of it all.

Feeling, for the first time in his long existence.  
It grew stronger, too.  
And some of those feelings, bright and shiny like a new penny, where not connected to exploring the tactile richness of inanimate objects.  
He couldn't let those thoughts run wild, though. He had to find a way to control himself in that respect. They wouldn't tolerate that. They probably wouldn't tolerate him feeling anything, period, but that thing they surely wouldn't.  
He might Fall, if he continued that way.

Better to helplessly fondle car upholstery, then, than let his thoughts stray down the forbidden path.

Bobby parked the car in a small dirt road.  
"Okay, the inn is about a quarter mile up the road. We go now or we wait for nightfall?"

Castiel shook himself. He should try harder to assist the humans, after all that was what he was here for. So, wait or go…  
He blinked and said quietly: "Maybe we could go there now under some pretense and see what is going on and if there is something going on, we come back at night?"  
"Could work that environmental assessment shit again, you know. Water inspectors, whatever. Got fake ids for that right here."

"Okay. Castiel, you better wait here. Somehow, I don't think you're quite the type to wave a fake id at people, right?"  
Castiel seemed to actually actively ponder this question, head once more tilted in this curious way.

"No, you are right, Sam. I do not think I would be very convincing."

When the truth is found to be lies

And all the joy within you dies

Don't you want somebody to love

Don't you need somebody to love

Wouldn't you love somebody to love

You better find somebody to love

Castiel watched the two men drive off.

He sat on a fallen tree, alone with his confusion again.  
He wished he could transport himself to see Raphael. The seraph might know what was happening to him.  
The seraph…

Raphael…

The angel ran his hand through his hair.  
What a wonderful sensation.  
Everything about the body of his vessel was fascinating to Castiel suddenly.  
He had never even paused to consider it as anything other than a useful suit to walk around in, a necessary mask to wear.

He ran his right hand over the back of his left.  
The friction of skin on skin sent shivers down his spine. He could feel the bone structure underneath the skin.  
He traced the bones of the index finger from his left wrist all the way up to the fingertip.  
So strong and yet so fragile.  
Infinitely fascinating.

Chapter 2

"You do know that we could find out much faster which house it is, if you would only let me use my Grace to do so?"

Raphael yet again said the same thing he had said at every other house they had arrived at.  
They were wasting valuable time.  
He was not happy about the way the day was going, one could tell from the infinitesimal edge in his voice. If one had known him, say, all one's life, that is.

Which Dean of course hadn't, which, likewise of course, led to a Dean kind of reaction.

"Sure. We could have also tied you up smack in the middle of town, with a big sign taped to your ass that said 'Fuckin' Leader of the Heavenly Host gunning to destroy the Cult of Ouron – come and get me', right?"

Rafe's normally impassive face gave a minute little twitch that again told the initiated that he was just biting back a nasty comeback.

"What good, then, am I in your opinion to this mission?"

"Damned if I know, angel boy, damned if I know. Maybe I let you tag along for your sweet personality?" Dean growled, glowering at the seraph.

Raphael suddenly burst into laughter.

"Never, NEVER in all the millennia has anyone talked to me like that, except for Saara of the Saami and Catherine. I can see how you two manage to get along so well."

Woke up, got out of bed  
Dragged a comb across my head  
Found my way downstairs and drank a cup  
And looking up, I noticed I was late  
Found my coat and grabbed my hat  
Made the bus in seconds flat  
Found my way upstairs and had a smoke  
Somebody spoke and I went into a dream

They drew up at the 5th house.

Dean was fervently hoping they wouldn't have to drive out to #6 anymore. He had it up to here with the grouchy seraph and the whole shitty situation.

Receiving a phone call from Sam saying they most likely had already found their mark hadn't exactly helped.  
Neither had being pulled aside by Cat and being soundly told off for snapping at Mr. I'm An Invincible Archangel So Kiss my Lilywhite Seraphic Ass.

Dean was hot, hungry, tired, aching all over, in desperate need of a shower and some fresh clothes and dying for some quality time with Cat.  
And a drink.  
Problem was, the other two members of his team were also apparently rapidly nearing the end of their tethers and Dean sucked at defusing situations even under the best possible circumstances.  
Which these markedly weren't.  
"You. Stay. In. The. Car." He bit out, turning to Rafe.

There was an elderly man mowing the lawn.

Dean put on his fed face and presented an FBI badge to the man.  
"Hello, my name is Agent Frehley, this is Agent Simmons. We're looking for the owner of this building."

"Well, young man, I sure hope you haven't come a long way to see him, because Mr. Braithwaite was called away on urgent business just yesterday."  
Cat aimed a supernova smile at the man and asked, "We are investigating a case, Mr. …?"  
"Johnson, Bill Johnson is my name."  
"Mr. Johnson." She turned the supernova up a bit more. "Bill. We are trying to find some missing persons and were just wondering if Mr. Braithwaite might have some information that might shed some light on the case. You haven't, by any chance, noticed young folks coming and going?"

"Well, yes, there's always plenty of young people around. Very polite folks, they are, too."

"How come? Is Mr. Braithwaite a teacher or something like that?"

"No, no. Mr. Braithwaite runs some sort of club, you know, like the Rotary club? They got meetings and robes and stuff. But it's for business purposes, you know. Building synergies, he calls it."

"Now, I want you to understand that there is no legal obligation here, but I for one," further amping up of the wattage, plus deepening of the Southern drawl, "would consider it a personal favour if we could take a brief look around the house. You see, we could then scratch Mr. Braithwaite off the list without bothering him further."

"Uh… yeah… sure."

You know the law  
Has got a long arm  
I've been around  
I know it well  
But if they're ever  
Gonna catch me  
They'll have to chase me  
Into hell

Cat and Dean were moving fast.  
No telling how long good old Bill would leave them alone.

They were looking for papers, magical objects, secret doors, trapdoors, anything that might give them a clue. Living room, library – dude, the fucker had a real, honest to God library – were all a total washout.  
In the study, Dean finally found a secret door in the wall behind the desk. The catch was hidden in the bottom most board of a small, ornately carved bookshelf that hung on the wall next to the door.

With a smooth click, the door opened as soon as Dean's deft hand found the correct carved leaf to push.  
He motioned to Cat to follow him.

They walked into a large room.  
Cult of Ouron alright. Symbols on the wall, altar, the whole shebang.

Cat was thumbing through some books on a shelf, when they heard Bill approaching.

"Quick," whispered Dean and dashed from the room.  
Cat pocketed a small, very worn, old leather-bound book and followed quickly.  
It had been handwritten in what looked like the kind of writing used around the time Castiel should've destroyed the Cult of Ouron for the first time.  
"Just as we thought, Bill," Dean smiled his most reassuring fed smile, "there's nothing here pertaining to our case. We're very glad you let us take a look around."  
"Always glad to help the gov'nment, Agent!" said Bill with a small salute. "Been in the army, see? Korea and all that. Sergeant Bill Johnson, I was."  
Dean gave a spiffy little salute back at Bill, then they quickly walked back to the car.

"Yahtze!" said Dean to Rafe.

The seraph had lain on the backseat the whole time, so as not to be noticed. It had been hot in the car. Rafe had had a hard time keeping his temper.

"You were successful?" he asked Dean.

"Yup. Home of someone high up in the Cult alright."  
Dean smiled widely at Rafe. Now that they had made progress, he felt a lot more magnanimous towards the seraph.

"Too bad, though, that the Cult head honcho wasn't home."  
"So what do we do now?"

"Try to find Mr. Algernon Braithwaite. According to the gardener, he left for New Mexico. San Rafael, New Mexico, to be precise. And he has a house there, too. On Old Highway 53."

Raphael sighed.

"I am guessing we are not sleeping in the motel rooms we have checked into?"  
Dean ran his hand over his chin.

"Yes we will. We're not gonna be good for anything if we don't sleep properly."  
And besides, he really, really needed some alone time with Cat.

But first things first.  
Dean dialed Sam's cell phone number to tell them about what had happened.

Their room sucked the big one.  
Who on earth decorated motel rooms and why then was that sick fuck still at large?

There were psychedelic flowers on the wallpaper that looked like cabbages on acid…  
Enough to give ya nightmares, if you didn't add the carpet and the upholstery to the mix.  
Jaysus jumpin' Christ on a crutch!

But then Cat turned to him with what was generally would be called a come hither look in her eyes and none of that still mattered as he lowered them down on the bed.  
They struggled out of their clothes without ever breaking skin contact and quickly found their rhythm.  
Her skin felt so good under his hands.  
Whenever they touched, he felt the electric leap of the bond. It added to the other, more normal sensations of two lovers touching, added to them and amplified them to the point when the pleasure became almost unbearably intense.

They reached the edge together, as always.

Much, much later, Dean slept a deep, dreamless sleep for once.

Tonight I wanna see it in your eyes  
Feel the magic  
There's something that drives me wild  
And tonight were gonna make it all come true  
cause girl, you were made for me  
And girl I was made for you

Sam and Bobby tried to look as convincingly as they possibly could like employees of the Greater Augusta, Georgia, Waterboard.

The sallow-faced young man who had opened the door didn't look too impressed, but waved them in regardless.

Sam's cell rang. Considering the sucky timing, must be Dean. Nobody else had timing like this. Well, their dad had had, so maybe it was genetic, instead of merely annoying.

"Sammy?"

"Yes, Mr. Erickson, we're just inside the Hephzibah Inn, sir. No, we'll get to the bottom of this business, never you fear."

"'Kay, Sammy, we're headed for San Rafael, New Mexico. Big Cult guy went there before we got here. Take care, man!"

"Yes, will do, sir."

"What were you saying you were checking?"

"Well, sir, we have received some lab results that seem to indicate increased levels of mercury in the water in this area."

"Uh-huh."

"Now we need to find the source of the contamination. We do so by taking samples in the houses around the area where we got the first sample, to narrow it down, you know?"  
Sam hoped that his impromptu explanation didn't sound half as inane to Sallow Face than it did to him.

"Uh-huh." Sallow Face nodded, then continued to lead them into the old Inn. He brought them down to the basement, where the main water meter was.

Bobby looked at Sam.  
He had no clue what to do next and if you could even open some valve somewhere about the meter to take some alibi sample or other.

But their luck held.  
No sooner had they arrived in the basement, than their guide was called upstairs again by a commanding voice.

"There's a faucet over here, go get some water samples," hissed Bobby, then turned around to open the lockers to his right.

Sam filled a few vials with water and put them and some papers on the rickety old table in the middle of the room to have something to show Sallow Face when he returned.

Then, Sam and Bobby started to look around for clues in earnest.

Chapter 3

Bobby hit pay dirt.  
Of course, it had to be the very last locker, where he finally found a red robe and some cult symbols, as well as some occult books and miscellaneous paraphernalia that both looked and felt evil.  
"Sam, got it."  
Sam hurried over.  
They leafed through the books quickly and took some loose sheets of papers with notes in the hope they might later prove useful.  
Bobby barely had time to close the locker again and Sam to rush over to the table with the fake samples, when Sallow Face returned.  
"Got what we needed, son." Bobby said cheerfully. "Water doesn't look half bad at first glance. Guess you guys might be lucky, after all."  
"Oh, good." Sallow Face replied unenthusiastically.  
Sam put the vials and papers in his bag and they were off.

They reached the spot where they had parked their very own avenging angel.  
Castiel was still sitting on the log, looking expectantly at them.  
He had tilted his head again in that slightly bird-like manner that made the angel look extremely harmless and very non-avenging.  
"They're there alright." Sam said.  
Castiel's eyes darkened momentarily and he bowed his head.  
"Are you certain?" the angel asked softly.  
Bobby felt that there might be something not quite right there, but didn't want to press. Shouldn't Castiel be more… well, willing to be avenging?  
Well, let's face it, it just didn't seem right to press an angel of the Lord, period.  
Castiel sighed and said: "I will go and do what I must do."  
He walked towards the building, hands pushed deep inside the trench coat's pockets.

When Castiel returned, his face looked drawn and there were copious spatters of blood and gore on the coat, his hands and face.  
He held a long, bloody sword in his left hand, which he allowed to drag over the floor, as if it were too heavy to lift.  
His blue eyes looked almost black in the sunlight and his shoulders were hunched, as he walked slowly towards them.  
Bobby opened the trunk and got a bottle of water and a rag out. He silently handed them to the angel, so he could clean himself up a bit.  
Castiel looked at him strangely.  
"I have to need for this."  
He shook himself.  
It took concentration.  
More concentration than he could muster right now, with all the horrible sensations that flooded him right now.  
He didn't want to keep feeling, if it meant he would have to feel these things as well.  
How did humans do it? How did they go through life with all the bad things that happened?  
And some even kept their faith through all of this.  
Castiel was hanging on to his firm belief in the Lord's will, but it took effort.  
A moment later, though, he was able to pull himself together and the blood vanished along with the sword.  
The memories of what he had done remained.

Sam was driving.  
"Are we going to press on for San Rafael, or should we turn in for the night?" Bobby asked.  
"Don't know. Dean said they would spend the night in Calvary to get some sleep, so we could, too."  
"I would like to rest, if it's all the same to you."  
Bobby turned around to look at Castiel.  
Usually, the angel stayed out of such discussions completely.  
Bobby had come to think of Castiel as untiring and not in need of any respite, but the angel still looked worn thin and pale.  
Not a good sign.  
"Yeah, you look like you could do with some sleep. You … do sleep, right?"  
"We rest, yes. We don't sleep like humans, usually, though."  
"Okay, Sam, next third-rate motel's ours."

Dean was watching Cat intently.  
He had woken up early and was spending the extra time watching his woman sleep.  
He was deeply fascinated by the curl of her lips and the soft curve of her jaw and a million of other little details.  
He'd love to trace them with his finger, but that would wake Cat up and hence was not an option right now.  
He had never felt anything even remotely like this for another person, nor had anyone ever felt anything like that for him.  
The very first time he had something that belonged just to himself, that he didn't have to share with Sam and that was good and true and reliable.  
A relationship that made him feel whole.  
A companion who accepted him as he was, who didn't seem to find him profoundly unlovable or lacking.  
Dean breathed a soft sigh of contentment.

Well, morning comes and you're still with her  
And the bus and the tourists are gone  
And you've thrown away the choice and lost your ticket  
So you have to stay on  
But the drum-beat strains of the night remain  
In the rhythm of the new-born day

Raphael was watching the town wake up from his motel window.  
It was fascinating to see the comings and goings of people, the way they moved, their almost antlike meanderings.  
Some were energetic and cheerful, while others looked half asleep, some seemed happy to go wherever they were going, some looked slumped and miserable.  
Humanity in its infinite variety was passing by his window and the lonely watcher wished he could make more of a connection to life in all its richness than his status would allow.  
He wished Castiel were here to share this moment.  
He had watched his fellow angel's awakening with keen interest.  
It would have been good to be there for him, as the influx of emotion could be a frightening thing indeed – and extremely distracting, which was not a good thing in their current situation.  
But that couldn't be helped now.  
He would have to wait until they reached San Rafael.

Dean thought he was going to pass out at the wheel from boredom.  
They had driven for what felt like hours and the landscape hadn't changed.  
The same arid reddish wasteland was flying by that they had driven through 187 miles ago.  
The only thing that alleviated the boredom slightly was when they hit the next cattle grid at damn near 100 mph.  
Well, okay, it at least had done so the first 20 or so times.  
Frrrrumppp.  
Another one.  
Raphael laughed.  
Which he always did when they hit a cattle grid.  
Dean wished the novelty of the sensation would start to wane for the seraph, but apparently Rafe had an almost child-like tolerance for repetition.

Late last night the rain was knocking at my window  
I moved across the darkened room and in the lampglow  
I thought I saw down in the street  
The spirit of the century  
Telling us that we're all standing on the border

They finally reached San Rafael at dusk.  
Dean checked them into, yup, you guessed it, another shitty motel. Rancho-style once more, longhorns and rawhide and whatnot.  
He then called Sam to tell them which motel they had chosen.  
Apparently, Sam had taken a wrong turn and hence his group didn't arrive first, even though they technically had had the shorter distance to cross.  
Well, okay, on top of the wrong turn, Sam also drove like an old woman, Dean thought, so it wasn't altogether surprising they were late on the whole, anyway.  
When they finally got in, there was nothing more to do than have dinner, draw straws for who was taking the first watch of the address the gardener had given then and then for the rest to go to sleep.  
Dean and Castiel had the first watch.

Dean parked the Impala across the street from the house, then settled down for the long wait. He had gotten coffee and some snacks and was enjoying the strong, black java, when Castiel sat up.  
"May I ask you a question, Dean?"  
"Sure, fire away."  
"What does it feel like when humans make love?"  
Dean snorted, coughed and sputtered as the hotter than hell coffee first got into the wrong pipe and then took the wrong exit route as well, ending up streaming from his nostrils.  
"Ah, Cas… did you just ask me to explain the joy of sex to you, or is there something horribly wrong with my ears?"  
"I don't think there is anything wrong with your ears."  
"Why ask me?"  
"You seem to have a lot of experience in the matter, so I thought I would get the best answer from you."  
Dean sputtered a bit.  
"Was I wrong in coming to this conclusion?"  
"Ah… no, not really. It's just that… uh… I haven't had that kinda talk since I explained what's what to Sammy yonks ago. I may be a bit outta practice."  
"I will make allowances for that." Castiel said calmly, pushing his chin forward in this aggravating "I won't take no for an answer" kind of manner that he had.  
Dean took a deep breath.

Chapter 4

I'd really like to try  
Oh, I'd really love to know  
When you tell me you're gonna regret it  
Then I tell you that I love you but you still say NO!

I swear I won't tease you  
Won't tell you no lies  
I don't need no bible  
Just look in my eyes

Now that was a talk Dean Winchester did not want to have again in his entire life.  
At least not stone cold sober and with a fucking angel.

The mechanics Dean could've handled, but Cas had wanted details, descriptions, how it really felt, in Dolby surround and full freakin' Technicolor.  
That was so not… so not… SO NOT. Period.

Goodness gracious, great balls of fire!  
Dean hadn't squirmed in his seat quite as much since he'd left high school, hemming and hawing and dancing circles around the issues until he couldn't do that any longer.  
Then he had gotten graphical and that had felt so beyond wrong with a member of the Heavenly Host in the audience that he could have just died on the spot.  
Suddenly, it had dawned to him that he couldn't even remember the proper names for the things right away, only their four letter versions.  
And while he struggled with his vocabulary, every pause he made would bring yet another round of 20 questions from the angel.  
How on earth had he gotten himself into this?  
Sex Ed 101 for a freakin' angel.

Just when he thought his life couldn't possibly get any weirder.

He wiped the sweat off his brow.

Castiel looked to be in deep thought.  
Just what the angel was thinking was something Dean very much didn't want to know anything about.  
So please, powers that be, don't let Cas be in a sharing mood!  
And please, PTB, while you're at it, let all his questions be answered. Oh God, please.  
No more.  
Dean should never have mentioned the elusive g-spot.  
NEVER.  
Not in a million years.  
Holy crap.  
For one terrible moment, he had even thought the angel was going to ask him if he could come and watch one of those nights, so as to better understand….

That's when Dean had finally had a fucking epiphany.  
He had told the angel that you did not discuss such shit in the workplace. And the Impala was the workplace.  
Fucking ingenious.  
Why on earth had he only thought of it after he'd been grilled for two hours solid?

Dean was staring intently at the house, conveying – or so he hoped – an impression of being highly concentrated on his task.

Castiel had a lot to process.  
Dean had been a veritable font of information on that subject, as hoped, even though he had seemed strangely reluctant to talk about some of the things Castiel had wanted to know about.

He would have to ask about some things in more depth later, when they were not working.

Work was not the right place for this issue, Castiel had understood.  
The angel thought human males usually would consume alcoholic beverages during such talks, so maybe he should ask Dean to go to a bar with him.

Castiel thought there were bars where he actually might be able to observe the female anatomy a little more closely. Dean would know about that.  
Castiel felt confident that he had made the right choice in asking Dean.

The angel tried to concentrate on their task, namely surveillance of the house the Cult leader was supposed to be staying in.  
The house remained dark, with just the one illuminated window on the first floor. No changes since they started their watch hours ago.  
It was hard to keep all those thoughts at bay, though, when there was nothing else to concentrate on.  
Castiel thought about the time he had spent in the motel, examining his vessel's body in all its strangeness. Dean had looked a little off, when the angel had described his findings in great detail and had demanded explanations for the things that had happened when he had touched himself down there.  
What a weird appendage to have, really!  
And if his thoughts weren't distracting enough, the smell of coffee in the car alone would be enough to drive Castiel to distraction.  
The smell was so delicious….

Realms of bliss, realms of light,  
Some are born to sweet delight,  
Some are born to sweet delight.  
Some are born to the endless night.  
End of the night, end of the night,  
End of the night, end of the night…

The night continued to be uneventful, with Bobby and Sam doing the second shift and Cat and Raphael doing the third.  
"You have healed Castiel, haven't you, Catherine?" said Rafe suddenly, shortly before dawn.  
"Yes, how did you know?"  
"It is an interesting fact, you know, that when you use the Grace you inherited to heal someone, you always leave a tiny part of you behind."  
Catherine laughed at the thought. "You mean Castiel has now some of my lousy temper inside of him?"  
"No, I mean he now feels. Truly feels, like humans do."  
"Is that good or bad?"  
Raphael sighed. "A little bit of both, I think. I have felt even before I became human all those years ago, I really don't know why. Maybe the seraphim are different? I could never find out."  
Rafe paused, lost in his thoughts.  
"But Castiel…" he continued, "well, he has gruesome tasks ahead and while he struggles with the massive influx of sensations, it will be terribly difficult for him to do what he has to do."

"So, you're saying effectively that I damaged him, aren't you?"  
"No. I see it as a gift, but one with some side effects that couldn't have been timed more badly, had you actively tried."

"Perfect, just perfect."  
Cat was chewing on her lower lip.  
What was she to do?

Patiently I've waited, baby, waited just for you  
& I ain't gonna move & act till you do what you're supposed to do  
You got your thing together, & I can't wait too  
& that's the very reason I'm stickin' here with you  
(Give it up to give it up)  
You know what I'm talkin' about  
(You can dig it, to give it up)  
Yeah, make me shout

Rafe was not as unhappy about the whole situation as his words may have sounded.  
He had been watching Castiel for a long time.  
The angel had somehow caught his attention and the seraph had made a sport of following his every move.  
Was it the blue eyes, or was it Castiel's unique body language?  
He couldn't really say, but Raphael was … how did the human expression go? Head over heels?  
Yes, that sounded about right.

He found his fellow angel enchanting and as far as he was concerned, the more intensely Castiel felt, the better for Raphael's purposes.

He had gone without physical contact for far too long.  
"Let us see how our little avenging angel will do."  
He only realized he had said it out loud when Catherine looked across at him.  
"Is the situation serious, or not?" she snapped at him.  
"Again, I have to say yes and no." Rafe smiled.  
"Could you be more cryptic if you actually TRIED?"  
"Hmmm…"  
"Don't you dare say anything to that. Don't. You. Dare."

Once there was a way to get back homeward  
Once there was a way to get back home  
Sleep pretty darling do not cry  
And I will sing a lullabye

Bobby was sitting at a rickety, white Formica table in the motel room he shared with Sam. He was beyond tired, but once more just couldn't seem to fall asleep.

The boy had no such problems and was snoring softly.

Now the first fingers of light sneaked into the room, speaking of the dawn of yet another day on the job.  
Those prying fingers of dawn were throwing far too much light on the gruesome wallpaper and the worn out furniture in their horrid, smelly room.

The worn out, stretched thin feeling Bobby had got worse with each passing day.

He was just too old for this shit.  
Too old for the bad roadside food, too old for the dingy motels, too old for the booze, the jokes, the stakeouts.  
Too fucking old for the Hunt.

Chapter 5

They just weren't getting anywhere.  
The Cult guy didn't leave the house at all. The whole day long, they had taken turns to sit in their cars outside the house on surveillance duty in the fucking New Mexico heat.  
Dean was sweaty, sticky, grouchy and nursing a terrible headache.

Dusk was approaching, but somehow, Dean doubted it would get much cooler once the sun was down.  
He had teamed up with Bobby, because no way was he going to do watch with Cas… like, ever again. Dean wasn't sure how to start that conversation he knew he should be having with Bobby. He sure as hell didn't feel ready to tackle that subject yet.

He was worried.  
Bobby seemed tired and distracted. Not like Bobby at all. Something was not right there.

Desperado, oh, you ain't gettin' no younger:  
Your pain and your hunger, they're drivin' you home.  
And freedom, oh freedom,  
Well, that's just some people talkin'  
Your prison is walking,  
Through this world all alone.

Catherine was worried.  
She wondered if she should take the issue up with Dean, but he seemed to have enough on his plate already.  
She knew he hated waiting and they weren't doing anything else right now. It rubbed all their nerves raw, but Dean being Dean… well, he was rubbed rawest.  
Bobby wasn't getting any better, either.  
Catherine was worried about him, too. He was Sam and Dean's rock and shelter and it would be tough if he decided to retire.  
Tough, but maybe the only option. A tired, worn hunter was a bad hunter – and consequentially a danger to them all.  
But that was not what really worried Cat right now.  
The other matter was extremely bad and might have some exceedingly dire circumstances, if Catherine was reading the situation right.  
No, this wasn't something she could discuss with Dean now. Raphael was a possibility, but there was no telling what the seraph would do, if Catherine's suspicion was correct.

"Hey, uh, Bobby…"

"Yeah?"  
"You, uh… want another coffee?"  
Brilliant move, Dean. Just get it over with already.  
So what if it seems to be awkward conversations week.  
Bobby's like a father to you, now open your stupid ass mouth and ask him what's wrong.

"Yeah, sure."

Dean handed Bobby the thermos and watched him pour.

"Are you okay?" he said, almost in a whisper.

Bobby stopped pouring coffee abruptly and looked over at Dean sharply, then resumed pouring.

He screwed the thermos shut and handed it back to Dean.

Bobby took a sip of coffee.

"No. not really."  
"What… what's wrong?"

"Dunno. Tired. Feeling old." Bobby shrugged. "Can't be helped, cuz I am tired and old."  
"You thinking about retiring?"  
"Dunno, Dean. Maybe."

Last night I dreamed  
While I was walking that I died looking up  
At fancy buildings and skyscrapers  
Are real heartbreakers  
When your time has come and gone  
It could've been all yours for a song

Dean didn't know how to react to that.

Not having Bobby around anymore would be bad. But then again, if he felt like this about hunting, he shouldn't be out here anymore.  
You needed to be on the job 100%, or else bad things were going to happen.

"If that's how you feel, Bobby, then maybe you should do it."

"I really don't know, Dean." Bobby said tersely.

"You'd be a fool to think we would stop bothering you, you know. We'd still show up at your doorstep any ungodly hour of the night and expect to be fed and pampered and shit, you know."

Bobby laughed. "Yeah, you would, wouldn't you?"

He looked relieved.  
Apparently, Bobby had really thought they'd drop him, should he retire.  
Dean hit Bobby on the upper arm with his fist.  
"Sure we would."

Algernon Braithwaite glowered at his visitor.  
"We will reach our goal, never you fear. Just make sure none of your winged pals interfere."  
How dare he criticize the attack in South Dakota.  
Where had he been then? Big fat help he was. What good was having a traitor on your side, if all he did was complain?  
"They will not. Castiel has his orders. If he disobeys, he will Fall."  
Algernon licked his lips.  
He disliked his visitor profoundly.  
The vessel still reeked of Heaven all over and hummed with its powers.  
Still, can't make an omelet without breaking eggs – can't try to get yourself a chunk of the Divine power without consorting with some of their ilk, tainted or not.  
"What shall we do next to achieve our goal, now that the Chalice of St. Dunstan seems to be out of reach?"  
"Out of reach, momentarily, yes, but not lost to us just yet. We need to play our hand just right. The Guardian trusts anything that comes down from Heaven. I will take care of the matter myself."

Castiel was outside, watching the setting sun, when suddenly he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"How are you doing, my friend?" asked Raphael in his silky voice.

"Fine."

The hand remained firmly in place. For a fleeting moment, it felt as if the seraph's thumb caressed Castiel's shoulder, but surely that was Cas' overactive imagination.  
Raphael sighed. He was standing so close to Castiel that the angel could feel the seraph's hot breath on his neck.  
Something funny happened in the pit of Castiel's stomach.  
He quickly asked: "Will my absence not be noticed?"  
"No, I am seeing to that. You are currently officially doing time in my offices." Raphael replied with s light smile.  
He let his hand run over Castiel's back, down to his side, effectively pulling the other angel in a half embrace.  
"Good." Castiel's voice sounded strained and husky.  
"The traitor is here. I can feel his presence." Rafe whispered.  
"Who is it?"  
"I don't know that yet, Cas. If I pry too hard, he will feel me. And I don't think my presence here should be made known to the enemy yet."  
Castiel tilted his head, as he pondered this intel.  
Rafe thought this little head tilting quirk was absolutely adorable. Or, as Catherine had called it, adorkable.  
He allowed his fingers to slide slightly and play over Cas' side, just a little bit above the waistband.  
Castiel made a small sound.  
It may well have been a moan of pleasure.

Angels don't lie, tell me why, did you leave heaven  
What here on earth here could make you leave  
Tell me true, was it love, answer my question  
Did you leave heaven for a love found in me

Sam was having a nightmare.  
At least that was what some part of his brain told him. Another part, a dark and twisted one, was calling it an erotic dream. And he hated himself for not being able to entirely quell that thought, wipe it from his mind.  
There was so much blood everywhere as Sam fucked Ruby. The bed was slick with it. They were sliding in blood, smelling it, tasting it.  
A whole bunch of demons was looking on, faces twisted into various expressions of anticipation and arousal.  
Sam was pounding into Ruby.  
The blood was dripping from the bed's headpiece.  
Dean, crucified on something that looked like a large T, held to it by spikes which protruded from the T. It looked like Dean had been driven back on this gruesome not-quite-cross. The spikes' pointy tips surfaced from Dean's thighs, arms and abdomen. Red rivulets ran down Dean's body.  
It was Dean's blood gushing over Sam as he has sex with a demon. Dean's life essence, in which he was wallowing.  
He awoke screaming.


End file.
